


And the sand runs down

by scribe-tuesday (Leofuller)



Series: Back Up There [18]
Category: Original Work, Sports Fiction (not RPF)
Genre: Not the NHL, ice hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:04:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 55,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leofuller/pseuds/scribe-tuesday
Summary: Nothing's going to last forever. That doesn't have to be a bad thing.





	1. October I

**Author's Note:**

> Forsythe is an ex GB international goaltender. He's an ex Elite league starter, more recently an ex Elite league back up.
> 
> Everybody knows what he used to be, it's on his elite prospects page, it's on his Tornadoes biog.
> 
> It's a bit more of a mystery what he's doing now.  
>  _Hector's Boys, Jonny's POV_

_Andrew_

Gregor quits on Monday.

Andrew’s still in the locker room, held up by a broken strap, but the rest of the guys have scrambled out to the ice because there’s no way Digger’s not going to bag skate them after the way they played this weekend. Outshot by the Huskies, and then a loss and a _brawl_ against the Eagles, obviously Digger’s furious.

“Leave that with me.” Rick makes Andrew jump when he comes into the room and takes the offending pad out of his hands. “Digger wants to see you in the office.”

Digger’s got no reason to be angry with Andrew. Andrew watched both games from the bench, even the brawl. He’s probably the only blameless guy on the whole team.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel just a little bit nervous, as he pushes open the door to Digger’s office.

 

“Oh, hey Andrew.” Digger looks up from his laptop screen. “Grab a seat.”

Andrew grabs a seat. Digger’s only a year or two older than him, but he just has this way of making Andrew feel like a kid in trouble.

“Heard the news?” Digger stares at him like this is a loaded question, and Andrew slowly shakes his head. He can't think of any news that would make Digger call him in here one-on-one.

Digger sighs, and is suddenly human. “Gregor quit.”

“What? When?”

“Last night. At…” Digger picks up his phone and opens his messages to check the timestamp. “Half past two this morning.”

“By _text_ message?” That's really unprofessional.

“Yup.” Digger puts his phone down. “So, that leaves us in a bit of an interesting situation.”

That's one way to put it. Another way to put it is that they're six weeks into the season and they're suddenly without a starting netminder.

Whatever Andrew's face is doing, it makes Digger laugh. “So, you up to it?”

There's only one answer. Even if Andrew wasn't as experienced as he is, even if sitting on the bench watching Gregor try to adapt to the leaky defense in front of him hadn't been painfully frustrating, even if he _didn't_ think he was up to it, Andrew would still have to give the same answer.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Digger stares at him for a moment longer, and then nods. “We’re shopping. We’ll see who's out there and that will affect how long this lasts, of course. Maybe we can get another starter in, maybe we end up getting you a back-up. Either way, we're calling Tommy up from the Hurricanes for now, so don't go getting injured or anything, got it?”

“Yes Coach.”

Digger grins at him suddenly, and they're just two guys in their thirties sorting out a mess that somebody else made. “Go on then. I'll see you on the ice.”

And the meeting’s over, so Andrew goes back to the locker room to finish getting his gear on for training.

 

It feels different, when Andrew skates out onto the ice. The guys are finishing up a skating drill under the watchful eye of Marcus, so Andrew skates a couple of slow laps at the end of the ice and looks at what he's got to work with.

He was the back-up, and he just had to fit into Digger’s system, but now he's suddenly the starter even if it might only be temporary. He's done this before, he's backstopped teams in the Elite league, he's been in net for Team GB. He's just got to compensate for the weaknesses in the defense he'll have in front of him.

 

On paper, there shouldn't be a problem with his defense. This team won two out of three trophies last year, and there's only been one change to the defense roster, but somehow everything's off.

It's not even obviously the new guy's fault, so far as Andrew can see. Elly’s listening to Digger and Marcus, he’s following the systems, and even if he is missing the pre-existing connections with the rest of the D that doesn't explain why nobody else is clicking.

Jaakko is quiet and self-contained on the ice, a walking stereotype of every Finn that Andrew's ever met. He’s just going out there and doing his own thing, which doesn't seem to work when Digger’s rotating pairings. It works best when Jaakko goes out with Mike, because Mike's been doing this for years and he's good at reading the gaps and being in the spaces when Jaakko’s gone off to do something clever, but Mike's nursing a lower back injury and Digger’s keeping his minutes to a minimum. That leaves Jaakko mostly skating with Jack-

Andy.

Jack Andrews, known as Andy.

It's one of those things that you just have to accept about the Tornadoes and move on with. _Andy_ is Jack Andrews. Andy Collins is _Colly._ Anders Toft is _Toffee._ Andrejis Jansons is _André_.

Andrew is Andrew, and secretly glad that his mother always complained when people tried to shorten his name. At least nobody on this team has picked up on calling him _Brucie_ yet.

So Jaakko gets paired with Andy a lot, and Andy likes to follow Digger’s instructions and Jaakko likes to make it up as he goes along, so mostly they just make Digger angry.

Elly keeps getting sent out with Jasper, and that's another mismatch. Andrew can kind of see what Digger’s trying to do, putting two very different guys together and expecting their strengths to complement each other, but Jasper’s a glory hunter and that leaves Elly not sure where he needs to be on the ice because Jasper’s trying to be everywhere. Elly’s clearly getting frustrated.

Biscuit isn't getting a chance to click with anybody because Digger doesn't seem to like the rookies leaving the bench.

 

Andrew can’t change the pairings - Digger doesn’t like to be told how to do his job, and Andrew’s worked with coaches like him enough times in the past to know when he needs to keep his head down.

Gregor never kept his head down.

Digger will work out what needs to be done with the defense eventually, and in the meantime Andrew’s got a finite amount of time to prove that he’s got what it takes to be the Tornadoes’ starter. That means he’s got to know his defense, he’s got to know their weaknesses better than any opposing forward ever can, and he’s got to be there to fill in the gaps.

And if he wants to hold on to the starting position, he’s got to do it before Digger manages to replace Gregor.

 

***

“I thought you took this job because it was less-” Sara pauses as she’s taking her shoes off. “Um. I mean, that’s wonderful darling. I’m so pleased for you.”

Signing with the Tornadoes had been a decision for both their careers. Sara’s work is really taking off, and the transport links are excellent here for when she needs to get to central London or over to France. Signing for an EPL team would mean Andrew spent a little less time at training and travelling to games, giving him space to be there for Mollie when Sara’s away and time to think about what he’s going to do next.

He’s 32. He can’t play forever.

He’s supposed to be easing back on the hockey, finding something else that he can do with his life. Signing on as back-up for the Tornadoes was perfect because it was not only the right place and the right time, but they’re also the only EPL team that can offer their back-up the kind of money that Andrew’s getting.

He’s supposed to be easing back, not throwing himself eagerly at the prospect of wrestling the net away from any challengers and turning his team’s shaky start around.

Sara puts her suit jacket into his unresisting hands with a smile. “You haven’t looked this excited for weeks.” She stretches up to kiss his cheek as she passes. “If it makes you happy, then it’s a good thing. Hey Molls, how was school?”

Andrew watches her disappear into the living room, Mollie’s chatter spilling out through the doorway, and takes the jacket upstairs to put it away.

 

“You know,” Sara says as Andrew’s climbing into bed, trying to let as little cold air in as possible as he moves the duvet, “I was being a bit facetious earlier, obviously, but I really do mean that this is the happiest you’ve been about hockey since the season started.”

Andrew settles on his side, facing her, propping himself up on one elbow. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She looks serious. “I mean, I know the plan was always for you to start taking steps back, but you hate sitting there when things go wrong without being allowed to fix it. You always have.”

That’s true. Andrew’s played back-up on teams going through rough patches before and it doesn’t really suit him.

“So I think this is going to be a good thing. Even if it doesn’t last, and even if you can’t suddenly win everything, at least you can be trying, right?”

Andrew nods, although the motion’s limited by his position. “Yeah.”

“And since it’s not the kind of job where situations like this lead to you having to work overtime, it doesn’t impact any of the good things about moving here.”

Sara’s obviously been thinking this over, during dinner and while she was in the shower. It’s true, though, being the starter doesn’t mean he has to go to more training sessions or leave any earlier to get to games. He’s still going to be here for Mollie.

“So I’ve got your permission?”

Sara grins. They both know that he’s joking.

“Yes, dear. You may proceed.”

Andrew leans over and kisses her.

 

***

Andrew's only met Tommy a handful of times. He plays for their NIHL team and trains with the Tornadoes once a week, and he's missed a couple of sessions because it's understood that his focus is with the Hurricanes and he's not on anything like enough money to make an extra training session with the EPL team a priority for him.

Until now, anyway.

Tommy’s a nice enough guy, focused when he's on the ice and chilled when he's not. He's got two kids and a full time job as an electrician. He's not here to challenge Andrew, he's here just in case things get even worse, somehow.

They chat while they're getting changed - Tommy’s youngest is about Mollie’s age - but once he's out on the ice Andrew's got to get his brain into gear. He's got to know his defense’s fuck-ups inside-out.

Unfortunately, there's a lot to learn.

The first step is to get the guys to listen to him. He wants to work with them, they're one team, not three and although the forwards might not be his priority right now he needs his defense to trust him.

 

It’s Tuesday, and even if Andrew knows that there’s no way he can persuade the guys to listen to each other by the weekend, he can at least make a start.

The obvious place to make that start is with the guys who are already willing to listen, and who want the changes as much as Andrew does - not that the rest of the team don’t want to start winning, but some guys are more clued in than others that changes have to be made.

 

“Watch Colly!” They’re scrimmaging, and Jasper’s focused on Toffee as the blue team make a push towards Andrew’s net. Toffee’s got the puck, Jasper’s covering him, Elly’s watching both Toffee and Ed as Ed’s closing in on Andrew. Colly’s clear. If Toffee passes to Ed, Andrew’s close enough to react to quick changes, he’s tall, he can cover a lot of space in a short time. He can cover most of the net from close up and if Ed redirects the shot from an unexpected angle, Andrew just doesn’t have to move as far to get it. If Toffee passes to Colly, Ed can screen and that makes it more difficult to react to the puck.

Elly doesn’t look round, of course, but he does move to cover Colly. Toffee obliges by passing to Ed, and Andrew’s ready to snatch the puck out of the air when Ed tries to lift it over his shoulder.

Marcus comes in to collect the puck for a faceoff, and Elly circles round automatically to check on Andrew, even though this isn’t a real game. Andrew grins at him through the bars of his mask.

Elly was always going to be one of the easy ones, because he _wants_ to listen. If Andrew can prove that he’s worth listening to, Elly’s going to accept him as the third defenseman and not the island that Gregor seemed to be.

Andy’s similar. He’s not so much of a stay-at-home as Elly is, but when Digger mixes the teams up and Andrew’s got Andy and Jaakko in front of him, Andy’s just pleased to have somebody to play _with_ rather than _around_. He thumps Andrew on the back as they’re clumping off the ice after training, and Andrew recognises the gesture of affection that never got bestowed on Gregor.

Gregor was so determined to be unassailable that he didn’t want to need help, but this is a team sport and it’s going to go a lot better if Andrew’s defense actually want to protect him.

 

***

By the time Friday rolls around and the Piranhas roll into town, Andrew’s confident that both Elly and Andy will listen out for him on the ice. Biscuit’s already hanging on his every word, apparently thrilled to have the attention of a veteran player and showing signs of smugness that Andrew’s singling him out for advice and not the other rookies.

Michael and Oscar are both forwards, and Digger’s going to staple them to the bench during actual game-play. Andrew needs to get the defense on side as a priority, and then the forwards who play special teams, and then the rest of them. Michael and Oscar are nice kids, and Andrew’s got no problem with either of them - they’re just not his top priority right now.

Biscuit’s going to be stapled to the bench too, in reality, but if Andrew’s attempting to teach the defense to communicate then Biscuit’s part of that even if all he’s going to do is watch and learn.

Andrew’s deliberately not thinking about the possibility that Digger’s going to bring in a new starter any day and that all of his plans will be for nothing. He didn’t get to where he is today without doing everything he could with every opportunity he’s been given.

He’s also not thinking about how _Digger_ should be building a defense that communicates. Digger’s focused on offense right now, and Andrew’s got to make the best of what he’s got.

 

“Jesus, what was that?” Jasper’s mouthing off as they stream into the locker room for the second intermission. “What a shitshow!”

He’s not the only one who thinks that the refereeing has been biased against them so far. He is the only one who’s trying to blame his teammates for the current score. “Where the hell were you on that last goal?”

Elly doesn’t answer, just carries on to his stall. He’s not much of a talker at the best of times, and he tends to withdraw rather than fight back when somebody starts having a go.

“He was covering three guys at once because you were out of position.” Andrew keeps his voice calm and measured.

“I fucking was not-”

“Yes you were.” Digger’s the last into the room. “You were way too far forward.”

Jasper mutters something under his breath, but he’s not brave enough - or stupid enough - to talk back to Digger.

“We’ve got a plan.” Digger continues. “We’ve got a system, but it’s not going to work if you don’t fucking _follow_ it. You’ve got to put a bit of trust in each other - trust your line, trust Andrew - if we’re going to get anywhere. This is a team sport, not every man for himself.”

 

Andrew glances around at the defense, busying themselves with their gear and avoiding looking at one another, and hopes that they’re listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I love to hear your thoughts on each chapter, whether you're following along as I post or if you waited until it was complete before you started.


	2. October II

_Elly_

David settles into his seat, halfway back on the left side of the bus, and jams his earbuds in.

He signed with the Tornadoes for a couple of reasons, but mostly he has to admit that it was the money. It seemed like the right time to step down a league - his minutes were dropping in the Elite league and there are always younger overseas players ready to take the spots - and if hockey’s not going to last forever then it’s probably a good idea to start building up some kind of other career ready for when he can’t play anymore. He’s not the only guy in this position by any means, even within the team - Andrew’s doing exactly the same thing.

The Blizzard would have signed him, that was obvious even before he played that charity game for them back in the summer, but they can’t offer him anything like the amount that the Tornadoes are prepared to pay for an Elite level defenseman. On top of that, the Tornadoes are close enough to Dad that he was able to put in a word for David, get him a spot in one of their offices and even if it’s entry level stuff and it’s boring it’s something to put on his CV when he wants to look for something better and he needs to impress an employer who couldn’t care less about his stats on the penalty kill.

So he’s here, getting paid above average wages for the league to live in a rental house with two Scandinavian guys who cook a lot of weird fish, while the team tanks.

Most of these guys won the league together last season, so it’s not hard to see that the fans are blaming the new guys, holding the changes on the roster responsible for the change in fortunes.

_Not worth the money_. It’s hard to stay away from your negative press when Facebook’s so keen to shove it at you. _Doesn’t look like an Elite league D-man to me._

The thing about playing in the Elite league is that your D partner is typically also an Elite league player, and not a self-important arsehole who won’t communicate on the ice. It’s hard for your passes to connect when Jasper fucking Whittaker is never where he’s supposed to be. Sure, David’s the new guy, but he’s doing the best he can with the tools he’s been given - and Jasper’s definitely a Tool.

It’s both a relief and a disappointment that the rest of the D aren’t doing much better. Mike’s only taking occasional shifts, giving David a glimpse of how good they could be with pairings that click, and Andy’s getting just as frustrated with Jaakko as David is with Jasper.

At least Jaakko’s not a cock about it, though. Jaakko’s out there, doing his own thing, but when it goes wrong he doesn’t claim that it’s Andy’s fault.

Digger seems preoccupied with bolstering the offense, though, and now there’s all the drama of Gregor quitting so it’s clearly not a good time for David to suggest that maybe they could try putting him out with Andy and letting Jaakko and Jasper sort themselves out. At least then they’d have one pairing that was actually communicating.

The only bright spot at the moment is the realisation that Andrew wants this fixed as much as David does. Gregor’s been gone for less than a week, and already Andrew’s in starter mode, yelling instructions on the ice and putting Jasper in his place when he blames David for his mistakes. Digger seems to listen when Andrew speaks up, as well, at least as much as Digger ever does. David’s been with the team for two months now and it’s very clear that it’s Digger’s way or the highway - the Tornadoes are not a democracy.

Maybe Digger’s not looking for Andrew’s advice, but right now Andrew’s the only goalie they’ve got and Digger’s not going to upset him. They need Andrew on form, they need him to have his head in the game.

He let in three tonight, but David and the rest of the defense let 32 shots get through to him and the forwards only managed to get one past Gethin Evans.

Back to back losses to the bloody Piranhas. It’s embarrassing.

 

The bus ride home is thick with atmosphere. Digger yelled at them in the locker room, and yelled at them again once they were all on the bus, and now they’re trekking around the M25 in oppressive quiet. The rookies are chattering softly up towards the back of the bus, and Mike’s snoring at an impressive volume, but nobody wants to pass the time with cards or a debate on this week’s telly.

David hasn’t turned his phone back on since the game.

 

***

_Andrew_

Nobody wants to be in the situation where last week’s 3-1 loss to one of the weakest teams in the league can be looked back on as a comparatively good game.

It takes all of Andrew’s self control not to lose his temper when they trail into the away locker room with a 0-6 loss on the sheet. That was a fucking shitshow, and Andrew’s let everybody down. It doesn’t matter if his defense can’t communicate, it doesn’t matter if his forwards couldn’t find the net with a map, he shouldn’t be leaking an average of two goals a period. It’s not fucking good enough.

The sound of the Griffins’ fans high from the game swells and fades as Digger strides into the room, shoving the door closed behind him. He stares around the room, at the guys who are only meeting his eyes because they know he’ll pick on anybody who’s looking at the floor, and then he sighs.

“Get in the showers. Get in the bus. We need to fucking _fix this._ ”

 

***

Digger’s plan to fix it is to mix up the lines and send them out in combinations that they haven’t really practiced, but to be fair it’s not like things are going to get _worse_.

Jaakko’s paired with Elly, now, which is something that normally only happens on the penalty kill, and Jasper’s with Andy which Andrew already has a bad feeling about.

At the front, Digger’s moved Frank up to play on Justin’s left wing, opposite Toffee, and Ed’s dropping back to play with André and Tim. Paul’s still centering the third, balancing Colly and Kyle with a rotating cast of OB and the rookies.

Andrew’s still in the net, of course, because he might be a sieve at the moment but Digger’s clearly got even less confidence in Tommy.

They hold it to 0-0 during the first, one of those up-and-down periods that’s pretty boring to watch and stressful to play. Andrew only faces eight shots, which says more about how poorly the Piranhas are playing tonight than about any improvements to the Tornadoes defense. This is the third time they’ve played each other in two weeks, they really should be getting to know each other’s weaknesses by now.

They open the scoring five minutes into the second, when Toffee gets a beauty right from the blue line which sails between the defending Piranhas and right over Evans’ shoulder. There’s a knot unravelling in Andrew’s stomach as the rest of the guys gather in celebration. _Not getting shut out tonight_.

It only takes them four minutes to double their lead. This time it’s Tim who gets the tip in, after a messy scramble around the Piranhas net which is eventually announced as assisted by Ed and Jaakko.

 

Jasper picks up a hooking penalty with three minutes and eighteen seconds left in the period, and Digger sends out the first penalty kill unit. At least he’s not mixing those up tonight, so it’s Colly, Toffee, Elly and Jaakko.

Faceoff’s to Andrew’s left, and the Piranhas get possession. Liepa’s on their first powerplay unit, and even if Andrew hasn’t had time to get to know all the players in this league yet, Liepa’s slapshot is one of the first things that a guy needs to know about the Piranhas.

Elly obviously got that memo too, because he throws himself in the way when Stanmer passes to him, and manages to get the puck out of the zone.

Nobody’s ready for a breakaway, and the Piranhas fumble back into control.

Andrew’s up against the right post as Stanmer and one of their younger guys chip the puck back and forth, looking for lanes. One thing about this team, no matter how weak the Tornadoes might be at the moment that’s not actually making the Piranhas any better and they’re not very good at finding gaps.

It would be a lot easier to follow the play without number nine’s arse in his face, though. Jaakko disrupts a pass, play crashes into the boards over to Andrew’s right, and while the ref’s watching the guys dig for the puck Andrew takes a swipe at the back of number nine’s knees.

The dirty look he gets in response is remarkably satisfying.

 

The second unit hits the ice when Colly manages to clear the puck properly, and Andrew’s got Tim, Ed, Andy and Frank in front of him.

It seems ridiculous that they have six defensemen and only three of them get used across both PK units.

The Piranhas set up and come in again. Pittman’s got the puck, and it looks like he’s going to just skate it right into the net before Andy manages to barge him off course. Pittman shoots anyway, but Andrew’s got his glove around it and the whistle goes.

Andrew gets a glance at the clock while the lino’s setting up for the faceoff. Still over a minute of the PK to go.

Piranha number 29 takes the faceoff against Tim, and although Tim’s fast enough to get possession, Ed fumbles the pass and Pittman’s got the puck again and he’s practically in the crease. Andy rushes in to intercept, and although his check is enough to take Pittman off his feet he shoots as he falls and the puck clips Andrew’s blocker before bouncing into the back of the net.

“Fuck!” Andy swears as the Piranhas crash together. Andrew tips his head back and stares blindly up at the rafters.

 

2-1 isn’t a bad position to be in at the start of the third, exactly, it’s just not quite as good as 2-0. They’re still leading.

2-2 isn’t a great position to be in with sixteen minutes still to play, but it’s salvageable.

 

They’re on the powerplay, the Piranha number 98 sitting a delay of game penalty, and this should be a good chance to pull ahead again.

The Piranhas don’t have a particularly intimidating penalty kill, in line with the rest of their game, and Toffee, Frank and Justin really should be able to do something with this.

Michael Lock’s one of those players that nobody really enjoys icing against, because he’s a little shit and even if the refs tend to keep an eye on him there’s still a lot of stuff that doesn’t get called, because they can’t see all of it and because some of what he does isn’t illegal, it’s just annoying.

He doesn’t get called for tripping when Frank loses an edge up by the Piranhas net. It’s too far away for Andrew to know whether that’s fair or not, but either way it means that Pittman and Liepa are suddenly steaming down the ice towards him. Jasper’s managed to get in front of them, and Andy’s chasing them down, but that’s not enough to stop Pittman from dropping the puck back to Liepa just inside the zone, not enough to stop Liepa from winding up before Andy can get to him and letting fly with a bullet that Andrew just can’t stop.

 

2-3 isn’t good, with seven minutes still on the clock. There’s work to do, to get this back.

 

There’s an icing call when the clock shows 3:17 still to play, and Digger signals for a time out.

Andrew skates smoothly into the bench, pretty sure already what Digger’s going to say. The faceoff will be down by the Piranhas net, and Digger’s going to want the extra attacker on the ice.

Andrew’s going to be staying on the bench.

Andrew hates staying on the bench.

He’s never met a goalie who likes an empty net. They all understand the tactical necessity of sending out an extra skater, they all understand that the risk of losing by two goals is worth it if it makes the odds of pushing to overtime that much better, but it’s Andrew’s _job_ to protect the net and he hates seeing it so vulnerable. He has to watch, he has to be in it with the team and will the puck to stay up in the offensive zone and away from his poor isolated net, but sometimes he’d really like to bury his face in his glove until it’s over.

Tommy pulls a sympathetic face when their eyes meet, the only person on this bench who really gets it, and then the puck drops and the pressure is on.

 

The worst part of the whole thing is seeing, after the puck settles in his empty net and Digger keeps him on the bench anyway as if they can get two goals back in a minute and forty-two seconds, that the home crowd are already filing out. The Piranhas fans are already celebrating, down in their corner, the die hard Tornadoes fans are stony faced as the earlier lead evaporates in front of them, and there are people walking out before the game’s even done because their exit from the car park is more important than recognising the effort made by both teams tonight.


	3. November I

_Andrew_

There’s thinking that you’ve hit the bottom, and then there’s a fight breaking out during training to show you that you’re wrong, and things _can_ get worse.

It takes a moment to realise what’s happening, because stuff like this just doesn’t happen during training sessions, but there are sticks and gloves on the ice and Jasper and Andy are swinging punches. Andy’s got a fistful of Jasper’s training jersey, up by the collar, and Jasper’s snarling something that Andrew can’t hear.

Digger blows the whistle and nothing changes, except that those of the guys who hadn’t noticed yet join the loose circle to watch. It feels weird, when there’s no need to find an opposing player for a safety hug. Andrew glances down the ice to where Tommy’s starting to skate away from the other net, that automatic quick glance to make sure that a fight’s not about to become a brawl and that he’s not going to have to step in against the other team’s netminder. Obviously that’s not happening here, this is between Andy and Jasper and nobody’s going to start any extra fights against their own teammates, especially Tommy, but Tommy’s looking back at him for exactly the same reason and when he catches Andrew’s eye he pushes his mask up to share a grin that’s not going to be noticed by anybody else in the drama.

Digger’s second whistle has the same effect as the first, and Jasper and Andy keep trading punches. Tim’s obviously trying to work out the best way to separate them, as his captain’s duties start to outweigh his sense of self-preservation, and then OB just barges in.

“All right, lads.” He ducks one of Andy’s punches, grabs them both by the throats of their chest pads and shoves them apart. “Fighting’s my job.” Jasper actually takes another swing, but OB’s 6’5” and his arms are too long for Jasper to be in range of either OB or Andy. “Enough!”

For all that OB has a reputation as a guy you don’t want to piss off he apparently very rarely raises his voice, and that’s enough to make Jasper pause for a second.

“That’s enough, now.” OB releases Andy, giving him a little shove backwards into Mike’s waiting grasp, and turns to get hold of Jasper properly, turning him away from the group and skating him off to a bit of a distance.

 

It’s a bit of distance that brings him closer to Andrew’s net, and Andrew’s not sure whether he should be skating in to the other guys or staying by his net. A quick glance up the ice suggests that nobody’s about to start any new drills right now. Tommy’s the only one who happens to catch his eye, and he shoots Andrew a significant glance which clearly means _get the gossip_ , so Andrew decides to stay where he is, quietly cleaning the shavings out of his crease as if nothing odd has just happened.

Jasper’s still incoherent with rage, but OB’s remarkably good at calming people down considering that his role on the team is to rile people up.

“What happened?”

“Useless piece of-”

Clearly Jasper’s not ready for a civilised discussion yet, then.

Digger skates over to them, stopping in a spray of ice shavings which land short of the crease that Andrew’s just cleaned. “Hit the showers, Whittaker.”

“The fuck? Why me?”

“Because I’m not stupid enough to send you both to change at the same time. OB, go with him.”

“Yes Coach.” OB still has a firm grip on Jasper’s upper arm. “Let’s go.”

“I need my shit.”

“Rookie’ll get it.” OB starts skating Jasper over to the gate. Their path is suspiciously clear, as Mike’s taken Andy over towards the benches and the rest of the guys are conveniently out of the way. OB calls out as they go, and Oscar scrambles to collect the gloves and sticks that got thrown aside when the fight started.

It says a lot about the state of the team that all of the other defensemen, not just Mike but Elly, Jaakko and even Biscuit are gathered around Andy, and Jasper’s skating off with a teammate who’s there as much to control as he is to support him.

“Happy days.” Tommy takes the opportunity to come up to Andrew’s end of the ice. “What a shitshow.”

 

Andy’s version of events, when Mike’s deposited him on the Away bench and it’s clear that he’s not going to go charging off to the locker room and have another go at knocking Jasper’s teeth out, is that Jasper’s been needling at him for mistakes that Andy swears were just as much Jasper’s fault as his, and that Andy had just had (in his own words) _e-fucking-nough_. And when he’d told Jasper to _shut the fuck up with his condescending shite_ , Jasper had sneered _some other fucking shite that was straight out of his arse_ and Andy had swung for him.

 

Digger’s not happy. Water is wet, ice is cold.

 

Jasper’s sitting in the front row of the stands, looking small in his hoodie and sweats while the rest of the guys are still in their gear, softer as his hair dries without any of his usual styling products.

He’s calmed down a bit, and doesn’t say anything when Andy heads for his turn in the showers with Tim to supervise. OB comes back out to the ice, where the team are focused on the drills with none of the usual mucking about. It feels oddly flat, and although the passes are connecting in a clinical way, Andrew’s finding it too easy to stop their shots.

Digger cuts the session short, as soon as Andy and Tim emerge from the locker room, sending the rest of the guys to get changed with no end-of-session pep talk.

Tim follows them in a few minutes later, before anybody’s got as far as the showers, shutting the door and standing with his back pressed against it.

“We can’t keep going like this, lads.” He looks exhausted. “We can’t keep losing, and we’ve got to stop taking it out on each other. We’re supposed to be a _team_.”

Nobody says anything. It’s not like it’s not what they’re all thinking.

 

***

“So,” Digger sums up his first-intermission pep-talk. “Don’t let them push you into the corners, work on getting that burst of speed when we’re taking it out of the zone, and… can anybody tell me why the Blizzard are out for Ellison’s blood tonight?”

Everybody looks at Elly, who’s been pushed off the puck with unnecessary force multiple times already this evening. The Blizzard have picked up two slashing penalties and a hooking penalty during the first, and Elly was the subject of all of them.

“I don’t know.” Elly looks a little bit lost. “I played with most of them over the summer and it was fine.”

“Okay, well, keep your head up. OB, get ready for a few extra shifts.”

“Yes Coach!”

“Five minutes, boys.” Digger heads back out to the bench, and the rest of them get themselves organised.

“You need to find out what’s going on.” Andrew bumps his elbow against Tommy’s as they’re both double checking their straps.

“Me?”

“Yeah. See what you can get out of Cooper.”

The Blizzard’s back-up has a reputation for being chatty, although the only game they’ve played against each other this year was on Tornadoes home ice where there’s plexi all around the benches and there’s no room for fraternising with the visitors so Andrew hasn’t had the chance to see for himself. Tommy’s good at talking to people, though, so if Cooper is the kind of guy who might spill the gossip then Tommy’s the man to get it out of him.

“Yes sir!” Tommy pulls off a tight salute - sea cadets, apparently - and gets to his feet. “If there’s gossip to collect for the good of the team, I’m prepared to step up and do my duty!”

Andrew grins and stands up. It’s 0-0, and time to get out on the ice for the second period.

 

“...and it looks like Frosty’s awake, so either the Blizzard are going to have to stop targeting Ellison or they’re going to spend most of the game in the box.” Digger’s second intermission talk is pretty similar to the first, as they’re still even with one goal each during the second period.

“I’ve got the background to that, by the way.” Tommy takes a swig from his water bottle and waits until he’s got enough of an audience. “So, apparently it’s a problem of a romantic nature.”

Elly splutters and goes pink, but doesn’t seem to have any words.

“According to my sources,” Tommy continues, “Elly here has had a romantic entanglement with the home penalty box attendant.”

Elly turns a darker shade of pink. Tommy’s pacing the story, giving him time to jump in and demand that Tommy stops sharing his business, but Elly doesn’t interrupt.

“And, apparently, the lady in question has been a little bit upset recently because _somebody’s_ not been returning her text messages.”

“That’s not…!” Elly starts to defend himself and then trails off, possibly realising that there’s some truth in the accusation. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair as in not accurate, or not fair as in the team shouldn’t be targeting you on the ice for it?” Tommy sounds genuinely curious.

“Not relevant.” Digger looks cross. “No personal business should be brought onto the ice like that.” He sweeps out of the room and there’s a stunned pause while the guys look at one another.

“Has he gone to yell at their coach?” Andy’s the first one to break the silence.

“I think he might have done.” Tim’s watching the door as if he’s expecting Digger to come back, and the guys all take a second to picture Digger hunting down Trent Kelley to demand a restoration of order.

_“A pair of star-cross’d lovers.”_ Everybody stares at Colly. “What? It’s from Shakespeare!”

“That’s why we’re confused.” OB explains. “Nobody expects you know anything with long words.”

“Well, if you’re so smart, which play is it from?”

“Romeo and Juliet.” OB favours him with a look that says _everybody knows that._

“That’s kind of romantic.” Biscuit pipes up from the stall next to Jasper. “One from each team, going against the odds for love.” He wilts a little when he realises he’s the centre of attention. “What?”

“Everybody dies.” Jasper tells him. “There’ll be a brawl in the third period, Elly will accidentally murder one of their forwards, and then, um, the penalty box lady-”

“Natalie.” Elly supplies quietly. Andrew’s not certain but he might be fighting a smile.

“-will fake her own death, and Elly will be so overcome with grief that he’ll top himself, and then when she realises she’ll kill herself for real.”

“Oh.” Biscuit looks taken aback. “Let’s not do that, then.”

“...Okay, great!” Paul breaks the awkward silence. “New plan, then. Nobody’s going to stab anybody on the ice, Elly’s not going to… Elly, you haven’t secretly married the penalty box lady?”

“No.” Elly’s starting to laugh, now, so that’s helping to ease the tension.

“Good, good. So, don’t do that. Don’t sneak off during an icing call and get married. And if you do discover that the love of your life appears to have died of a mysterious illness, please don’t do anything rash until you’re absolutely 100% certain that she’s not faking, because she’ll be very upset when she comes round and finds that you’ve bled all over the ice.”

“I mean, if you’re looking to defuse the situation, you could always just drop her a text to say that you’re sorry for being a bit crap and you’ll talk to her afterwards?” Tommy brings the room back to reality. “We’ll let you have first shower so you’ve got time to apologise in person before the bus goes.”

 

***

_Elly_

David’s one of the first guys into the showers, as promised. Natalie had sent him a text back, just saying **ok** , and now he’s pushing the line between showering as fast as possible and also making sure he’s showering properly because even if she’s used to hockey players he doesn’t want to smell bad.

At least for an away game he doesn’t have to deal with a shirt and tie - just head to toe Tornadoes branded gear so he’s going to be really obvious when he goes looking for her. Still, nothing he can do about it. Everybody on the team’s got the same gear so it’s not even like he can swap hoodies with somebody.

When he gets out of the locker room, they’ve opened the ice up for free skate and there are a collection of teenagers making their way in anticlockwise circles with varying levels of skill.

Natalie’s sitting on the bench, waiting for him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” After a second, he sits next to her. “Um.”

“Sorry about the guys tonight. I had no idea that they would…” She looks uncomfortable, and David’s confused because he’s pretty sure that _he’s_ the one who’s supposed to be apologising.

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. And I don’t want you to think that I’ve been bitching to the boys about you because I haven’t. It’s just that they’re all so bloody nosy and they’re really invested because they think they got us together, and so when Greg asked if I’d heard from you much in the run up to this game I think he misinterpreted what I said and they all got a bit personal.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_. They could have actually hurt you for no reason.”

There had been a hit at the start of the third that was bad enough for Frosty to call it as cross-checking. Sam Pearce had been sent to the penalty box, directly across from the benches where David was being checked over for any actual damage that Pearce might have done, and David had had a perfect view of Natalie reaming Pearce out in the box.

“But they didn’t. And I’m sorry that I haven’t been very good at… everything.”

“It’s not like we’ve been doing this for that long.” Natalie points out. “We don’t need to be in each others’ pockets.”

“It’s been four months.” David points out.

“Really?” Natalie looks genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. 22nd June. So, four months and a couple of weeks.”

Natalie starts to giggle.

“What?”

“It’s just… the boys are all mad because they think you’re not, I don’t know, whatever, but actually I’m the one who’s losing track of significant dates already.”

David shuffles closer on the bench so that their arms are pressed together. “Sorry I’ve not been answering your messages. It’s not going great, with the team, at the moment.”

Natalie nods. Everybody in the league knows that the Tornadoes are having problems.

“But I shouldn’t take that out on you, it’s not fair.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” It can’t be that simple.

“Okay. Don’t shut me out. Or just text back and say _team’s shitty not feeling like chatting_ or something so I know you’re not trying to break up with me-”

“I’m not!”

“I know!”

There’s a pause, while they just smile at each other, and then Natalie leans in.

“So,” She says quietly, right by his ear, “there are at least four Blizzard players hanging around watching us, and I think that’s one of your rookies lurking under the archway. Should we kiss and make up for the audience, or do you want to sneak off somewhere?”

David grabs her hand. “The second option.”

Natalie laughs, getting to her feet and pulling him towards the fire doors. She was right, that is Biscuit hiding by the doors to the locker room.

“Tim says the bus is going in ten minutes!” He shouts as they pass, and Natalie dissolves into laughter again.

“Why can’t any hockey players ever mind their own business?”

 

***

_Andrew_

Tommy gets called in first at Monday night’s training. He comes out of Digger’s office a few minutes later looking unruffled, but Andrew doesn’t have time to find out what’s going on before it’s his turn to see Digger.

“Grab a seat.”

Andrew does as instructed.

“So, you probably have some idea what this is about?”

“New goalie?” Andrew guesses. It’s better not to say _Gregor’s replacement_ because Digger still has a tendency to turn funny colours when Gregor gets mentioned by name.

“Spot on.”

Andrew waits for the details with his heart thumping. He’s been telling himself that it doesn’t matter if Digger brings in a new starter, telling himself that he was always supposed to be the back-up and it’s fine if he’s relegated to the bench again, but in reality he doesn’t want to give up the starter’s spot.

“Do you know Steve Woods at all?”


	4. November II

_Andrew_

Andrew’s deliberately early to training the next night. Steve Woods is a good EPL goalie, but he’s one of those guys who never got the nod for the Elite, never made it onto the GB roster. He’s also only a year younger than Andrew. This is a situation that has  _ tandem  _ written all over it, even if Digger was deliberately noncommittal.

Andrew and Woods are either going to fight each other for the net or share it, and a lot of that’s going to depend on what happens tonight.

Goalie life is a lot easier if you get on with the other guy. Andrew would know.

 

He’s into his base layers when Rick pushes open the door and ushers the new guy in.

“Oh, good. Andrew, this is Steve. Steve, Andrew.” Rick waves a hand in a vague gesture of introduction and leaves them to it.

“Hi.” Andrew stands up. “Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks.” Woods looks around to see if there’s somewhere obvious he’s supposed to be.

Andrew had thought about taking Gregor’s stall, when he had the opportunity, but it’s a psychological advantage that won’t mean anything to Woods since he wouldn’t know which one used to be the starter’s stall, and in the end he didn’t bother.

“This one’s yours.” Andrew gestures to the stall next to him. Tommy never left any of his stuff behind, well aware that his stay was temporary.

“Thanks.”

Word from the gossip mill - or Colly, which is the same thing really - is that Woods is a man of few words. Andrew reminds himself that it’s hard walking into a new locker room mid-season.

“Did it take you long to get here?” Small talk, boring, but it stops the ice from forming between them.

“Hour and a bit?”

Andrew pulls what he hopes is a sympathetic face. Woods was a Saxon through and through, from what he’s heard, and his home and family are all in Chelmsford. It’s not the kind of drive home Andrew would fancy after training.

“I’ve done worse.” Woods shrugs, as if Andrew had voiced his thoughts out loud. “My first year with the Scorpions Danielle was still in Chelmsford and we had to drive up and down all the time.”

“You’ve got kids now, though?”

“Yeah.” Woods smiles, and makes a little twitch that suggests he was about to reach for his phone. “Danielle’s actually still on maternity leave at the moment.”

It’s too soon to ask if Woods is thinking of relocating to Kent, so Andrew takes the obvious solution.

“How old’s the baby?”

“Woody!” The door doesn’t exactly bang open to admit Paul, but his entrance is both enthusiastic and dramatic. “How are you?!”

Woods just smiles at him, but Paul’s apparently not expecting an actual answer. One point for Colly’s gossip.

“Welcome to the team! Seems like years since I’ve seen you properly.”

“Must be at least two.”

“Susie said that Danielle was about to pop last time we saw you both.”

Andrew’s not up to speed on everybody’s career histories, but Paul’s obviously played with Woods in the past.

“That would have been with Colton, as well.” This time Woods does reach for his phone, and when the rest of the team start to arrive he’s showing Paul and Andrew pictures of Colton, who’s two and a half, and Phoebe, who’s almost eight months old. 

Andrew doesn’t miss the nappies, but it does make him a little nostalgic for the days before Mollie learnt to answer back.

 

***

_Woody_

Andrew Forsythe is really tall. Steve knew that, objectively, he’s seen him play in the past and he’d looked him up after that call from James Dunleavey - Digger, he’s supposed to call him now. 

Now that Steve’s a  _ Tornado. _

But it’s one thing to know that Andrew’s six foot five on Elite Prospects and six four and a half in reality, and it’s something else to be in a room with him. Partly because Andrew’s also really skinny which makes him look even taller, and also because Steve’s five eight on Elite Prospects and a little bit less in real life.

He seems like a nice guy, though. Welcoming.

It’s not hard to work out that they’re going to be competing for the net. It’s an adjustment for Steve - he hasn’t had competition for years now, as the scales back home hadn’t tipped in Pete’s favour yet.

...It’s not home anymore. Chelmsford might be where he lives, but the Saxons don’t belong to Steve anymore. Not since the end of last year when Jonno decided to shake everything up and gave Steve’s job to Rijkert Aarden, who’d never even been to England before July.

Steve’s not angry…

Steve’s not angry  _ anymore. _ He was, when Jon and Monroe ripped his team out from in front of him, handed his net to somebody else and didn’t exactly say in so many words that Steve’s getting old and isn’t up to the job anymore.

Steve is getting older, but thirty-one isn’t  _ old  _ and he’s still a good keeper. He knows he is, but it hurt to find himself without a team when the season started. 

The Cobras had called, and the Kestrels, but nobody he actually wanted to play for. He’d had a lot of long conversations with Danielle about the future and what he was going to do to earn a living now and in years to come - and then Digger had called with an offer and some breathing room.

An hour and a quarter’s drive to training is a small price to play for a decent team that’s near enough to home that Danielle doesn’t need to think about shifting her client base again. She’s not going to do that unless Steve gets some kind of long term commitment somewhere, which seems unlikely at his age. She’s the reliable breadwinner now.

Steve doesn’t want to be old-fashioned - Danielle wouldn’t appreciate it, for one thing - but he hated sitting around feeling like he couldn’t help her to look after their family. He needs this to work, with this team, and he needs to use this time to figure out what the hell he’s going to do next.

 

So, Andrew’s really tall, and he seems like a nice guy, and he fills Steve in on the gossip once the locker room’s filled up with their teammates and they’ve gone out into a side corridor with the excuse that they need space to stretch. He runs through some nicknames - about half of the team seem to be called Andrew, but nobody’s going to expect Steve to learn everybody’s names today - and then checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re not overheard.

“Okay, so, the D. Most of them aren’t really talking to each other at the moment.”

That doesn’t sound good. Steve focuses on his right hamstring.

“We’ve got a bad mix of guys who will and won’t stick to the set plays. Somebody’s always out of place, they don’t react well to unexpected things and they don’t trust each other.” Andrew shifts his stretch from one side to the other and Steve notes absently that Andrew doesn’t appear to be quite as flexible as he is. “Well. Elly and Andy trust each other, and everybody trusts Mike but he’s still nursing a back strain. Jasper and Jaakko are both actually okay at what they do, but it’s never what they’re supposed to be doing and the rest of the guys find them hard to react to. And Biscuit’s the rookie.”

Steve’s played against Digger’s squads for years. Everybody knows that Tornadoes rookies never leave the bench.

“And then on Tuesday last week Jasper and Andy had a fist fight on the ice during training, so that pretty much sums up where we are at the moment.”

Steve releases his stretch and just stares. Andrew shrugs, with this look on his face like he’s had to find the funny side because there isn’t really an alternative.

“So, we’ll be facing lots of shots?” Steve tries to pull out the information he can actually do something with.

Andrew grins. “Yeah. Lots of shots.”

 

It’s a good thing that Andrew warned him about the defense, because it’s still a shock to get out on the ice for training and find that the guys in front of him don’t want to be there.

At least he knows that it’s not that they don’t want to be  _ here, _ on the team, more that they don’t want to be here  _ with each other. _

He doesn’t actually know any of the D. The Tornadoes are one of those teams that keeps a lot of their guys, people don’t move in and out as much as they do in other teams. Paul Dempster used to play for the Saxons, but other than that Steve’s never been on a team with any of these guys. Anyway, Paul’s a forward.

The brief round of introductions was enough to get him started, anyway. Biscuit - the nickname’s something to do with his surname, apparently - is the kid, barely old enough for facial hair. Mike Housemann has been around in the league for long enough that Steve knows him. Jasper Whittaker is also a familiar face from opposition benches, although that face isn’t normally quite so stony. Jaakko Korhonen should be familiar, but Steve’s always made more effort to know the opposition forwards than the defense and although he knows the name he wouldn’t have recognised him. Jack Andrews is a former Tornadoes rookie, proving that if you stick it out you do get to leave the bench eventually, and David Ellison is the one that Steve knows least. He played on the Blizzard, back when Steve first made it to the EPL, but he’s been up in the Elite league for long enough that Steve doesn’t remember the details of how he plays.

Probably best to start fresh without previous conceptions, anyway. He’s got to protect against their weaknesses rather than guard against their strengths, now that they’re his team.

 

***

_Andrew_

Digger doesn’t show up to training on Friday.

“Okay, guys.” Marcus gathers them together to get started. “Digger’s stuck on the M25 somewhere near Gatwick. So, that means-”

“Scrimmaging!” About half the guys chorus the response. Digger doesn’t miss many training sessions, but when Marcus is in charge they usually end up doing the same things. It’s not that Marcus is unoriginal, it’s more that Digger has very specific ideas about what he wants to happen in each session, and he wasn’t expecting Marcus to be leading the session so he probably hasn’t left instructions.

“Well, I was going to say skating drills.” Marcus leans on his stick and grins at them. “But if you’d rather scrimmage…” Several people laugh, and it hits Andrew how tense Digger’s training sessions have been recently as the losses have mounted. “So, let’s sort out some teams…” He looks around at the guys. “I guess Andrew and Woody should be on different teams?”

Woody tucks his blocker under his arm. “Does that mean we get to pick the teams?”

Marcus grins. “It does now!” That saves him a job. “Who’s going first?”

“Woody can start.” Andrew doesn’t mind giving the new guy the advantage. This time.

 

It’s hard to say whether Woody’s an okay guy or not, whether he’s somebody that Andrew’s going to get along with, because he really doesn’t say much at all off the ice. However, so far there’s nothing about him that Andrew actively doesn’t like, and that’s a good start.

He might be quiet, but Paul obviously remembers him as a key part of a team, keeps glancing over to see Woody’s reaction to jokes, checks in with him occasionally for an opinion he clearly values. He might be quiet, but he’s paying attention. It always felt like Gregor was keeping himself a step apart, like he considered himself just that little bit better than the rest of them. Tommy was comfortable in the room, familiar with the guys, but he always knew he was temporary and he was never going to put his heart into the team.

Woody just feels... new.

 

“Jasper.”

Interesting selection. Jasper’s not going to be anybody’s first choice at the moment, with the attitude he’s got going on. Woody looks over at Andrew, and his expression suddenly makes Andrew think that Woody’s got a plan.

“Toffee.” If Andrew’s right, and Woody does have a plan, it’s either aimed at winning this evening’s meaningless scrimmage or it’s something to do with the defense. Andrew can work with either of those plans by picking up his first choice of forwards.

“Andy.”

There it is. There’s a little bit of shock amongst the guys. Even after just two practices there’s no way that Woody doesn’t know that Andy and Jasper hate each other. He can’t be doing this by accident.

“Oscar.” Leaving aside all the drama, it doesn’t hurt to boost a rookie’s ego by picking him early, and Oscar and Toffee are actually pretty good together.

“Jaakko.”

“Elly, or Woody’s not going to leave me any defense at all!”

“André.”

“Mike.”

“Paul.” 

“Yes!” Paul fist-pumps as he skates over to Woody, drawing a laugh.

“Biscuit.” 

That’s the defense sorted, then. Woody meets Andrew’s eyes and nods. “Frank.”

“Edwin.”

“Captain.” 

Tim grins as he joins Woody. 

“Kyle.”

“Big guy.” Woody points with the butt of his stick. Andrew’s not sure if he’s really run out of names he remembers, or if it’s for the laugh.

“Me?” OB points to himself. “Or Mikey?” He pats Michael on the head. That’s definitely for the laugh, Michael’s still got a lot of filling out to do.

“Mikey.” Woody confirms, straight-faced.

“Justin.” Andrew’s team is coming together now.

“And you, then.” Woody points to OB again. 

Colly’s the only one left, so he skates over to Andrew. “It’s okay, guys, I’m not hurt. Do I get a car or something for going last?”

 

“Is he nuts?” Kyle at least waits until they’ve separated into two huddles before he voices what a lot of them must be thinking. “Why would you pick Jasper and Andy together? That’s asking for trouble!”

“Or it’s asking them to get their heads out of their arses and co-operate.” Andrew shrugs, like this is of no big concern to him even though he’s really, really hoping that Woody’s got some kind of plan here. “So, let’s not go thinking we’re facing a defense that got holes in it big enough to drive a bus through. How are we building our lines?”

 

***

_Woody_

“Right. I want to win this.” Steve gathers his makeshift team around him. “So. Centres?”

“Me and André.” Paul offers.

“Good.” Steve hadn’t been thinking about forward positions when he was picking, he was just trying to get the defense split up the way he wanted them.

“Tim and Frank with me, Mikey and OB with Paul?” André suggests.

“Is that how you normally play?”

“Mikey and OB both play on my wings, but not at the same time.” Paul explains.

“How would you split it?” Steve defers to the captain. Tim thinks for a second. 

“Mikey with me and André. Frank with Paul and OB.”

“Any objections?” Steve’s not expecting any, and he doesn’t get any.

Well. Not from the forwards.

“What about us?” Jasper’s puffed up, like a defensive cat.

“You’ll have to rotate. You’ll all have to play together.”

There’s far too much side-eye going on.

“Look, I picked you because I wanted to break up your comfortable pairings because you know how those guys up there play, and I want you to anticipate what they’re going to do. We need a plan-”

“Two minutes!” Marcus yells across the ice, right on cue.

“-and I need you guys to come up with it because I’m new here.”

“Well, I think-” Frank shuts up abrupts when Tim elbows him.

“Come on then, Jasper.” Tim backs Steve up. “What’s the plan?”

 

Marcus lets the first scrimmage run for ten minutes, not stopping the timer for goals, and Steve’s team are 1-0 up when the whistle goes.

“Captains!” Marcus yells for them to come in. Tim automatically starts moving, then stops, laughs, and pushes Steve forwards instead.

Andrew meets him at the boards.

“So, guys, what do you want to do? Mix it up, or play on?”

“Play on.” Andrew says, straight away. “Five minute break for strategy, and then back at it.”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Did you plan this?” Marcus looks from one to the other. They both shake their heads. “Oh, well. I like it anyway. Carry on.”

 

“Okay, we’re not mixing teams. Five minutes and we’ll go again.” Steve joins his team where they’ve huddled by the home bench in reach of the water bottles. “Nice work cutting off their chances, guys.”

“Jasper’s plan worked.” Jaakko shrugs. 

“Only because you all followed it, though.” Paul chips in and saves Steve from having to do too much talking.

“Let’s see if we can do it again, then.” Tim shoves his water bottle back onto the shelf and picks up his stick. “Because they’ll be expecting it now.”

“Yes, but,” Andy starts, and Jasper and Jaakko actually seem to be listening. “What if we-”

 

“You know,” Andrew pushes his mask onto the shelf above his stall without even having to stretch. “I don’t even mind that you beat us. If it’s convincing the guys that talking to each other is worth it, then I’ll put up with the shame.”

He’s grinning, so he’s probably not serious about the shame aspect of it.

“I didn’t do much.” Steve sets his own mask down in the corner of his stall and sits next to it to start on his pads. The rest of the guys are out skating a few laps to finish off, but Marcus has let Steve and Andrew go.

“You set them up to sort themselves out.”

Steve shrugs. “They just needed a push.”

Andrew sits down and starts on his own pads. “Now all we need to do is convince them to do it in an actual game situation.”


	5. November III

_Elly_

“Hey!”

David turns to see Andy jogging towards him.

“Hi.”

Digger wants the guys to be at the rink two hours before puck drop for home games. That gives them an hour to get into their base layers and warm up with two-touch and stretches before the doors open and they have to kit up for the on-ice warm-up. David likes to be in at least fifteen minutes before the deadline, but Andy generally skids through the door with seconds to spare. It’s only five past four, he’s never this early.

“I wanted to talk to you, if you’ve got a sec.”

“Sure.” David lets Andy take the lead, through to the locker room to drop off their bags and outer layers, and then through to a side corridor. They’re both in suits and it would be pretty obvious to anybody who saw them that they’re having a Serious Conversation rather than just chatting.

 

“So, uh, after yesterday’s training…”

Yesterday’s training session during which Jasper, Jaakko and Andy had actually worked together on following a plan with successful results.

“Yeah?”

“Well, we were thinking…”

“Sounds dangerous.” David responds before he can help himself. “Did you sit down while you were doing it?”

“Ha ha.” Andy punches him in the arm, but not very hard. “Anyway. We’re supposed to be back in the same old pairings tonight, yeah?”

Ever since the fight in training David’s been saddled with Jasper on the ice again. It’s going about as well as it ever did, but at least he’s capable of not punching the smug twat in the teeth.

“Mm.”

“So. We were thinking, that what Digger tells us to do doesn’t really work for Jasper or Jaakko.” He draws out the vowels in _really_. “And the main problem isn’t so much that they’re not following Digger’s plan but that we-” he waves between David and himself “don’t know what they’re going to do when. So, we thought, what if we tried it so that Jaakko tells me what he’s doing, and Jasper tells you what he’s doing, so that when we’re out on the ice we’re at least working together even if we’re not sticking to Digger’s plan.”

“Um.” David takes a second to run over that in his head. He’s not massively keen on ignoring Digger’s instructions, because Digger really doesn’t like when they don’t stick to his game plans, but if it makes them more effective on the ice… “Worth a try, I guess?”

 

“Elly!” David’s got the puck, keeping an eye on the line change and waiting for somebody to be in the right place for a pass so that they can get out of the defensive zone. Jasper’s behind him, slightly to his right, and the Blizzard are also going for a change.

David passes back without looking, a short pass into the gap where Jasper’s going to be, and Jasper powers forward with the puck. The Blizzard defense are rushing into place, but Toffee’s ahead of them, heading for the blue line just slowly enough that Jasper can carry the puck in without an offside call before he puts on a burst of speed and heads straight for the net. Rhodes is watching them both, but they’re on opposite sides and he can’t cover both posts at once. Jasper dekes, Rhodes falls for it and shifts to cover the shot he’s expecting from Toffee, and Jasper shoots. Rhodes stretches a pad to it just in time, and Toffee’s there for the rebound.

The buzzer goes, the red light is on, and Jasper roars his delight.

Digger frowns when they skate by for fist bumps and step in through the gate, pausing to let Jaakko and Andy out. He can’t yell at them for bringing the score back level, but that particular play wasn’t one he’s had them practise.

Still. One step at a time.

 

***

_Andrew_

The defense are _talking_ to each other. They’re actually yelling out instructions on the ice, and Elly and Andy are listening to Jasper and Jaakko, and more to the point Jasper and Jaakko are listening to Elly and Andy, and suddenly they’re reacting to offensive attacks as pairs and not as disconnected parts.

And Andrew still let four goals in tonight.

“I’m sorry, guys. I let you down tonight.”

“It’s not on you.” Tim squeezes his shoulder as he passes Andrew’s stall. Andrew’s still sitting in all his gear, and Tim’s heading for the showers with a towel wrapped around his hips. “We didn’t score enough. Too many chances that we just didn’t convert. We didn’t do enough.”

He goes on through to the showers, and Andrew knows that he should have done better.

Next to him, Woody goes through the routine of taking off his pads and his brand new jersey. It must have sucked, sitting on the bench tonight and watching Andrew leak goals.

Digger’s going to start Woody tomorrow, if he’s got any sense. That’s what Andrew would do.

 

Andrew’s seriously considering just going home. It’s part of the routine, win or lose, that they go up to the bar and have one drink together, as a team, show their faces around the fans and volunteers who stick with them whatever the results, but…

It just doesn’t appeal, not tonight, not after screwing up such an important game.

Not that beating the Blizzard tonight would have been particularly significant for the team, not that this loss is any more of a disappointment generally than any other, but this was Andrew’s first game with Woody on the bench, and he needed to prove himself tonight. He needed to prove himself, and he failed.

“Ready?” Woody’s waiting for him, though. “Paul says we always go for a drink, now?”

And it would be churlish to say no. It’s not going to help his case if he starts acting like a sulky teenager. Gregor didn’t value team. Andrew has to be better than Gregor.

“Almost.” Andrew has a quick glance around to make sure that all his stuff is in his bag, ready to collect on his way out later. “Yes.” Most of the guys have already gone on.

Woody falls in just behind him, and lets Andrew lead up to the bar.

 

***

_Elly_

“That looked better, last night.” Natalie hadn’t followed her team home after the game. They’d had other priorities last night, more important things to do than discuss the game, but now the sunlight’s nudging through the gap in the curtains. David normally finds it annoying, but it’s kind of romantic right now. Natalie’s curled into his side, tracing idle patterns on his chest in a way that’s probably going to be quite distracting if she keeps it up, and it’s okay to talk about your sport in bed with your girlfriend if she starts it.

“Not better enough.” They still lost, after all.

“But your passes were connecting and the guys had to work a lot harder to get round you.” Natalie lifts her head up enough to look him in the eye. “It was noticeably better.”

They’re not playing the Blizzard again until February. It’s extremely unlikely that telling one of their off-ice officials anything about game play and tactics is going to affect anything. Natalie’s asking because she’s talking about his game, David’s game, not looking for insider info on an opponent. He’s not going to overthink this.

“We’re trying this new thing where we talk to each other. Jasper’s going to tell me what he’s doing when he ignores Digger’s carefully crafted plans, so that I can ignore them too.”

“That’s… novel.” Natalie settles her head on his shoulder. “But apparently effective.”

“It’s a step in the right direction. Maybe we can work on listening to Digger once we’ve cracked listening to each other.”

Natalie’s got little bits of fluff in her hair the same colour as the hat she was wearing last night. David picks some of it out from near the elastic that’s supposed to be holding her hair out of her face.

“What are you doing?” Natalie twists to look, which isn’t effective because she can’t see the back of her own head. David shows her the fluff, which is green. Blizzard colours.

“I guess I should shower.” Natalie doesn’t seem keen on moving. “Is your shower big enough for two?”

David thinks about it. “Probably not. Want to test it?”

“Mmm. In a bit.”

 

***

_Andrew_

Andrew was hired to be the back-up. That’s why Digger signed him.

It shouldn’t feel wrong to go second in the warm-up drills. It shouldn’t feel like he’s failed when he sits in the back corner of the bench after the anthem, sets his mask on the floor safely away from teammates’ feet and pulls on his Tornadoes ball cap.

Four weeks ago yesterday he sat in this corner of the bench, wearing this cap, and watched Gregor holding the Huskies at bay, and now he’s in the same spot watching Woody score the crease. It’s no time at all, really, and it shouldn’t feel like such a kick in the teeth.

It shouldn’t, but it does.

 

It seems ridiculous to say that Woody’s been quiet in the build-up to the game, because it’s not like he makes much noise at the best of times, but he’s been that bit more focused, withdrawing into his head. At centre ice, Earnshaw is getting ready to start, signaling to each goal judge in turn and then the timekeeper to make sure that they’re all ready to go. The starting line for the Eagles are checking in with Mkrtschjan, circling in to tap his pads and jumping back when he swipes at them in what’s clearly an established routine.

Justin’s making sure that the Tornadoes are where he wants them, Toffee and Frank out on his wings, Jasper and Elly at the back. Justin’s passing on instructions, and Jasper’s actually nodding like he’s listening, like he’s going to follow a plan, and Andrew takes a moment to feel proud of the guys for working on their problems.

Woody taps the posts of Andrew’s net - of _their_ net - and settles into his waiting stance to see how the faceoff’s going to go.

Earnshaw’s got his arm in the air, the puck drops, and they’re away.

 

Andrew’s mask stays under the bench during the first intermission, protected from fans by the plexi. He couldn’t do that in any of the other rinks in the league.

This hasn’t been the sort of game where Digger would want to swap them over. They’re 0-1 down, but the shot that got past Woody was an absolute beauty that Andrew probably wouldn’t have got either. The shot count’s much better, too, 10 on Woody and 9 on Mkrtschjan, so whatever the defense have started to do seems to be plugging some of their leaks.

Andrew skates out for the second with the team, does just one lap while the rest of them warm up a little, and goes to sit in his corner.

 

It’s probably disloyal or something to say that Andrew prefers away games, and it wouldn’t be strictly true. The travel’s a pain, especially if they have to get to the Cobras or the Pumas. The Tornadoes fans might not be the most vocal in the league, and they might filter out before the end of the game sometimes, but they’re on their side at least. The facilities are better here, the ice is well looked after, the locker rooms are clean and well lit…

It’s just that the bench is glassed off. It’s shorter and deeper than a lot of rinks, leaving them sitting in two ranks and of course Andrew sits in the back corner because he’s not going to need to change on the fly. The rink and the team are well staffed, and there’s a guy in a Tornadoes fleece and cap who’s just here to open the gate for the boys.

Andrew can’t even strike up a conversation with his equally-sidelined counterpart on the other team.

It’s not boring, watching hockey, of course it’s not, but… it would be nice to have something to _do._

 

Jack Dannet’s at the front of the away bench, because like most teams in the league the Eagles don’t have a huge staff and he’s on gate duty.

He’s also always been the back-up, he’s not competing with Mkrtschjan for the starts, and he’s probably not torn between wanting his guys to win and hoping that the other netminder doesn’t have the best game.

Andrew needs to get a grip, or this is going to be a tough year.

 

Elly collapses on the bench next to him, and Digger leans over to pat him on the helmet.

“Good shift, guys. Nice work shutting them down.”

Jasper’s settled on the front bench, but he turns to grin at them over his shoulder. The effect’s not really spoilt by his mouthguard, as the novelty of Jasper grinning at Elly because a defensive play just went well is going to take a long time to wear off.

There’s a roar from the crowd, and everybody’s attention snaps to the ice. Toffee’s got the puck, and he’s steaming up the ice towards Mkrtschjan, catching the Eagles mid-change and getting himself clear into the zone. Mkrtschjan’s tracking him, scooting backwards, constantly ready to move, to react, and there’s a reason why he’s got some of the best stats in the league… but Toffee brings it in close, so close that Mkrtschjan jabs out, close enough that he’d be able to poke the puck away if it wasn’t for Andrew’s habit of doing the same during training sessions. Toffee lifts the puck, sends it singing past Mkrtschjan’s ear to hit the back of the net and dent Mkrtschjan’s save percentage.

 

Jordan Sithwell scores three minutes and forty seconds later, putting the Eagles back into the lead, and then Andy rockets an absolute beauty in from the blue line to make it 2-all just before the end of the period.

 

They head for the locker room in high spirits.

“Not bad, boys.” Digger strides right into the centre of the room. “Keep this up, and we’re laughing.

 

The chances are that whatever Steve Paston said in the visitors’ locker room was less complimentary, because the Eagles have their focus dialled up when they come out for the third, and nothing that anybody can throw at them is getting past their D.

They’re eight minutes into the period when the Eagles get called for too many men.

“Okay, lads.” Digger taps Frank on the shoulder to send his line out over the boards. “Let’s make the most of this.”

 _Let’s make the most of this_ could mean a lot of things. It could mean _tire them out._ It could mean _push to the net._ It almost certainly means _score a goal._

It definitely doesn’t mean _let them keep icing the puck, skate up and down for a minute and twelve seconds and then give up a dodgy turnover in the neutral zone allowing Cody Robinson to go one-on-one with your goalie and bury it top-shelf._

That, however, is what they do.

 

In the spirit of team cohesion, it would be nice to say that it was nobody’s fault, just bad luck, bad timing. There’s a tiny part of Andrew, a part that he’s going to need to squash before it gets a hold, that would have quite liked it if the goal had been somehow Woody’s fault, but there’s really no way to deny that it was Justin’s fuck-up.

Justin missed what should have been an easy pass. Justin scrambled to get the puck before it left the zone and didn’t quite get there, Justin made a pass when he didn’t have proper control and sent the puck straight onto Robinson’s stick.

Justin curses his frustration onto the bench, slams his stick into the boards as he comes through the gate and has to be hustled into sitting down before he picks up a misconduct.

2-3 down with ten-and-a-bit to play. The game’s not over yet.

 

There are three minutes left on the clock when Digger calls a timeout on an icing whistle and tells Woody to stay on the bench.

Six Tornadoes skaters go out for the faceoff down by the Eagles’ net. Frank, André, Toffee. Ed, Jasper, Mike. Woody stands just inside the gate, unable to tear himself any further from the net than he absolutely has to. Andrew can sympathise.

It’s not any easier to watch an empty net as the spare rather than the starter. It’s not Andrew’s job to protect the net tonight, but it’s one thing to leave it in the hands of another netminder who’s at least going to _try_ to look after it, and something else to have Woody shifting restlessly on the wrong side of the boards with the net wide open.

Woody’s just watching the net, all of his focus tuned to creating a forcefield to keep out any stray pucks, so Andrew watches the play and wills the puck to stay in the Eagles’ zone.

The clock always slows down when the net’s empty, each number on the clock taking two or three seconds to change, but it does run down eventually.

The Tornadoes play like it’s a powerplay, pass after pass around the boards, keeping it away from the Eagles and looking for that perfect shot on Mkrtschjan. The Eagles keep the pressure up, blocking the lanes and hunting for any opportunity to get the puck away.

Andrew thinks they’ve done it, when Toffee puts in a shot that Mkrtschjan manages to get a pad to and the puck rolls out to Robinson who immediately weaves it out of the zone.

Mike’s there, though, right in his face the whole way, giving a taste of what the Tornadoes defense _could_ be, until Robinson loses the puck and everybody else has taken the chance for a shift change.

Mike takes the puck back in, on his own until Colly and Tim cross the blue line behind him, Paul and Kyle following and Elly at the back, ready to catch any other Eagles with escape plans.

**_That’s the final two minutes of regulation play, ladies and gentlemen._ **

The clock creaks on down.

Mike passes to Tim, crisp and clean, and heads for the bench so that Jaakko can take his place. Tim chips it across to Paul, Paul to Kyle, Kyle back to Paul. Paul takes the shot, and Mkrtschjan gets a pad to it again but this time Tim’s there, picking up the rebound and sending it across the net for Colly to tip in.

Mkrtschjan throws himself across the net, stretching for the puck, slamming himself down onto the ice and for the longest moment they all know that it’s underneath him, safe between his arm and the ice, and then the goal horn sounds.

Andrew hates those goals, the ones where you think you’ve got it, you know you’ve got it, but you were a tenth of a second too late when you landed and it just squeaked through, sitting behind the line and taunting you for your slowness.

It doesn’t feel so bad, when it’s the other net.

Woody looks over his shoulder and grins at him before opening the gate and letting himself back out onto the ice to protect their net for the final sixty-two seconds of the period.

 

The Tornadoes fans are slowing their drift to the exits, lining the glass and slotting themselves back into the nearest empty seats.

 

Getting to overtime gets them a point, and that’s better than they’ve done in the last six games.

Three on three’s a different style of play, and the open ice suits the Eagles. You need strong two-way players, you needs guys who can complete a breakaway and still drop back to defend.

Guys like Tim, and Colly, and Frank. Guys like André, Ed and Jasper.

Guys like James West, Tom Stanton and Cody Robinson.

It’s not a particularly pretty play. Stanton chases Ed into the Eagles’ zone, stealing the puck from close up and almost tripping over his own skates as he twists to get back over the blue line. For a moment it really looks like he’s going to wipe out, but he sends the puck out wild to his right and catches himself with a couple of long strides as Robinson collects the pass. Robinson’s over the line and into the Tornadoes’ end of the ice with Jasper right on him barging him off course, but then West is there, ready to receive the puck before Jasper can get control of it, and he’s too close to the net, too close for Woody to get his shoulder up, to close for puck to go anywhere but in.

Andrew might have stopped it, because he’s taller and his shoulders are higher up to start with, but the play would have been different with Andrew in the net so that’s not fair.

Fair or not, it’s 3-4 and the game is over.

 

***

In a couple of years’ time, one of them is going to have to quit football, or at least change teams. Mollie’s going to hit the point where she hates having her dad coach her team, and Andrew’s going to respect that.

Well. Andrew’s going to hate that she doesn’t want to spend that extra time with him, but he’ll respect that being a pre-teen comes with a whole set of social rules and awkwardness that just didn’t affect him back when he was that age. Sara says it’s worse for girls. Hopefully Mollie won’t lose her passion for sport when puberty finds her, but either way Andrew’s prepared to agree to only coach the younger age-groups and give her her independence.

He won’t give in easily, however. Even if he’s planned to let her get her way, Mollie’s got her mother’s sharp brain and ear for negotiation, and if he plays it awkward he can probably get her to promise a certain amount of bedroom tidying and dishwasher unloading before he capitulates.

In the meantime, he’s going to enjoy the fact that Mollie’s not only prepared to be seen in public with him in matching t-shirts, but actively enjoys having him involved in her life.

 

Football finishes at twenty past five, and it’s half past by the time everybody’s been returned to their parents and Andrew and Neil are happy that the sports hall has been left in an appropriate state. Mollie helps him stack the plastic cones and corral the footballs into the bag.

“I’ll carry these.” Mollie tightens the drawstring on the net bag and heaves it over her shoulder. The bag comes almost to the ground behind her, even though she’s tall for her age. Like her dad.

“Are you sure?” Andrew’s not going to stop her from pushing her limits.

“I’ve got it, if you can take my kit bag…”

Andrew grabs the two sports bags, the big one that’s got the cones and the bibs in, and the small one that’s got Mollie’s indoor trainers, spare socks and water bottle.

“You guys ready?” Neil’s waiting by the light switches. “You okay with that, Mollie?”

“Yup.”

“Cool.” Neil hold the door open for her, grinning at Andrew over her head as she heads for the stairs. The bag’s so big that from this angle, when Mollie’s got her head bent as she concentrates on her footing, all they can see is the net climbing the stairs.

It’s just starting to rain when Neil pops open the door of his minivan and heaves the footballs into the back. “Cheers for that, Mollie. That’s a big help.”

“No problem.”

Andrew takes advantage of her helpful attitude in front of the head coach and passes over her sports bag. She shoots him a look like she knows exactly what he’s up to but takes it without a protest.

“Come on then, Molls, we need to get home and get the dinner on.”

“See you Saturday, then.” Neil shuts the door to his van.

“Mum’s bringing me on Saturday,” Mollie tells him, shifting her bag from one hand to the other. “Dad’s got an away game.”

“Oh, okay.” Neil glances at Andrew.

“Wakefield.” Andrew confirms. Neil grimaces to sympathise with the bus ride that will involve.

“Well, good luck then. I’ll see you next week, and I’ll see you-” he turns back to Mollie “at nine fifteen on Saturday morning.”

Mollie salutes. Neil’s been training all the girls to do that, and it’s pretty cute because they’re young enough to still be really earnest about it.

“Come on then.” Andrew puts his hand on Mollie’s head and turns her towards their car. “Dinner won’t cook itself.”

 

“Are you quitting hockey?” Mollie doesn’t look up from her maths workbook as she asks, her frown of concentration so like Sara’s.

Andrew gives the bolognaise another stir and puts the spoon down. “No, Molls, I’m not. Why?”

“Because you and Mummy were talking about you getting a new job.” Mollie looks up at last. “And I thought, you’ve got a job. With the Tornadoes.”

“Well.” Andrew glances at the clock on the oven. The bolognaise will be fine on a low heat for ages, and the pasta doesn’t need to go on until Sara’s home. “The thing about playing sports professionally is that you can’t still do it when you’re old.”

“And you’re old.” This is a statement of fact.

“Not that old!” Andrew laughs. “But for professional sports, I’m getting a bit old. So I have to decide what job I want to do next, so that when I _am_ too old to play hockey, I can find a new job.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mollie looks down at her book and then back at him. “Are you still going to coach at football?”

“If I can. It depends where I work. But,” he pulls out a chair and sits down. “We don’t want to move again. We’re going to try to stay here so you can stay at the same school and the same clubs.”

“I’d like that.” Mollie hasn’t complained about leaving all her friends behind since they moved to Kent, but she was noticeably quieter than normal for a few weeks until she got settled at school and gathered a new crowd of followers.

She works her way through the next question in her workbook, mouth moving silently as she goes through the steps and ends up with what Andrew can see is the right answer.

“What’s your new job going to be?”

“I don’t know yet, Molls. I’m still trying to choose. What do you think I’d be good at?”

Mollie lowers her pencil as she thinks about it. “Probably not ironing.”

Andrew manages not to laugh. “I do okay with your school shirts, don’t I?”

Mollie shrugs. “You try.”

 

Sara laughs until she cries when Andrew tells her the story later, complete with Mollie’s little shrug and sympathetic expression, but by Friday morning there’s a piece of paper held to the fridge with some of the magnets that Sara’s mother always brings them back as souvenirs when she goes on holiday.

It’s written on some of Mollie’s prized unicorn paper, in Mollie’s best handwriting, but the lines are very straight and Andrew can see Sara’s input.

 

#### 

 

It’s a start, anyway.


	6. November IV

_Woody_

It’s one of those things that’s been a constant in his life: for as long as he’s been playing hockey, Steve’s found himself staring down the ice at Gav Stone. Juniors. NIHL. Even growing up in different conferences, if he progressed far enough through a competition, sooner or later Stone would be out there on the same ice.

He’s faced the Cobras at least six times a year ever since he got to the EPL, even if he inevitably sat out some of those games. Back when he first got his call-up to the Saxons the Cobras were a team that could be challenging to beat, and Steve used to sit on the bench and watch Ben. He’s had his fair share of match-ups against Stone, but recently the Cobras have been struggling and Steve’s found himself sitting on the bench again while Pete got some decent minutes.

Steve’s not a Saxon anymore, though. Ben’s long since retired, Pete’s backing up Steve’s replacement, and tonight it’s Andrew’s turn in the net as Digger tries them both out to see how this pairing’s going to work.

Stone’s on the bench as well, however.

The Tornadoes are struggling, after all, and it’s exactly the kind of game you give to your promising, on-the-up younger netminder.

Somehow, in all their match-ups, Steve’s never sat on the bench and watched Rob Brooker play.

 

It’s all water under the bridge now, those two awkward nights that should never have happened. Years ago. Steve’s married now, he’s got two kids, and as far as he knows Rob moved on ages ago.

It’s not like they talk about it, of course. It’s not like they have mutual friends who would mention if Rob’s seeing somebody.

It’s not like Steve really cares, to be honest. Rob’s made no attempt to contact him or to mention it on the occasions when the hockey schedule throws them together, and Danielle knows the truth in any case.

It’s just a little strange, to be here without having to focus on his own game and his own performance, watching Rob move. It had been obvious, back then, that Rob had a lot of potential, but he’s really grown into his game and he’s got a future beyond this league, if he wants it.

Steve never got that call.

(Steve never got that call, but he got Danielle and Colton and Phoebe, and despite what he would once have thought there _are_ some things that are more important than hockey.)

 

Andrew’s in the net, holding his own against the Cobras. He’ll want to prove that he’s stronger than Steve, he’ll be out there to show Digger that he should be the starter. That’s what Steve would be doing.

Maybe it would be different if Digger had actually said how he sees them, tandem or starter-and-backup, and which way round they fit. Instead they’re both out here fighting a fight that might not even be necessary.

 

_Elly_

David waits until they’re on the bus before he turns his phone back on. Some of the guys like to be back in touch with the outside world before their skates are even off, but David’s always preferred to leave the locker room behind before he reconnects.

He doesn’t really do social media, anyway. He’s got a locked Twitter account that he never posts from and he’s not on Instagram, barely on Facebook. He doesn’t get the point of Snapchat. Leon says he’s a freak, but Leon’s 16 and David doesn’t care about his opinion anyway.

When Dad and Michelle got married, David quite liked having a little brother. When Leon was 6 and David was 18, it was fun to have a kid who thought he was cool and used to follow him around and want to do everything he did. They never lived together, David was at Mum’s when he wasn’t away in team housing, and somehow over ten years David’s gone from being the cool older stepbrother who introduced Leon to ice hockey to being a _stone age loser_ , whatever that is. It’s a mystery to David how Leon manages to be Mr Popular at school while still developing a classic case of Goalie Weird.

 

He’s got a text from Natalie, **Twitter says you’ve got an assist xx** , and one from Dad.

**Will you be free to join us for dinner one night this week?**

He answers that one first.

**Wednesday?**

Natalie’s text is a bit harder to answer. He _did_ get an assist tonight, but what’s he supposed to say? _That’s right, I did_? She’s just pointed it out - if she’d said _congratulations_ he could have said _thanks_ but he doesn’t really know what to say.

He checks the final score for the Blizzard, to see if her team got the W, and then opens the game stats.

 **Quiet night for you?** There were only six penalty minutes in the whole game, and four of those were sat by the Piranhas. Sam Pearce was the only Blizzard player to get a penalty, and the Piranhas managed to turn the powerplay into a goal in just 25 seconds.

**Lonely :(**

Natalie won’t have wanted her guys to take penalties, of course. She’s joking. David’s getting better at reading that over text. **Cobras box was busy tonight!**

**LOL when is it not?**

**Didn’t make it any easier for us, though.**

The Cobras spend a lot of time on the penalty kill. They’re well practised at it.

**Another OT point though, at least? 1 point is better than 0?**

**True**

The notification for Dad’s text pops up at the top of the screen.

**Wednesday, 7.30. Can you pick Leon up from training on your way past?**

Because nothing improves a 15 minute car ride like a sulky teenager and a goalie’s worth of hormone-soaked kit.

**Yes, will do.**

 

**I’ll be home in about half an hour, let me know what you want to watch x**

It’s at least a four hour drive to get home from here. Natalie will be back in her house long before the Tornadoes get off the M1.

David sends her a screenshot of the library of films he’s got stored on his tablet. **You can pick x**

He spent way too long, the first time she suggested that they both watch the same film when he had a long bus journey, filtering his movie library so that he could screenshot it without including anything that might be embarrassing. Not that he has anything inappropriate, just that Leon had mocked all his choices not long before and David was trying to make a good impression.

He hasn’t bothered hiding any of them since he got a look at Natalie’s movie collection. It doesn’t matter if David’s choices make him a loser, if his girlfriend likes all the same things.

**I’ll text you when I get in x**

That’s one of the things he really likes about her, that she doesn’t do those _oh no, YOU choose_ spirals. If David says he’s happy to go with Natalie’s pick, Natalie will take him at his word. So far she’s never picked anything he doesn’t like, anyway.

Around him, the bus is settling into the quiet that usually accompanies a long drive home. Nobody’s hyped up after a loss, everybody’s tired after overtime except the rookies who don’t get enough shifts for physical exhaustion. Woody didn’t play either, but he’s got a small baby at home and falls asleep even on short road trips. Michael, Oscar and Biscuit are playing some kind of card game, and everybody else is either staring blankly out of the windows at the wet roads or is already falling asleep.

They’re not always this quiet, according to Andy. According to Andy, they’re just as noisy after a win as any other team.

It’s just that David hasn’t seen enough wins with this team to know.

 

***

_Woody_

It feels…

The mood in the locker room isn’t jubilant, or even confident, exactly, but there’s a sense of bone-deep determination. They’ve lost, and lost, and lost, but both of their last two games have gone to overtime, both games got them a point, and whenever two guys make eye contact there’s an unspoken shared feeling that the tide is turning and this is where the change is happening.

They’re at home tonight, after yesterday’s trip up to the Cobras, and on top of the pressure of dragging this team through a u-turn, this one’s personal.

The Saxons are in town, and Steve’s got a point to prove. Steve wants to go out there and show them that they should never have let him go.

 

Jon’s starting Pete, and that actually hurts. Not only is Steve not the netminder they want anymore, but they don’t even need to play their starter against him.

“His weak spots are low on the blocker side.” Everybody’s listening, as Digger’s passed the room over to Steve for his insider knowledge. “And if you can pull him post to post he can’t always get back fast enough.”

Pete was, is, a good friend. He was Steve’s rookie, Steve’s protégé. And if Jon Marsh thinks that the Tornadoes don’t merit his fancy import starting netminder, Steve can turn that to their advantage. It’s a stupid move on Jon’s part, because Steve doesn’t know Rijkert Aarden, but he does know Pete. It might be an exaggeration to say he taught him everything he knows, but he did help him hone everything he knows and that means he can take him apart again for the Tornadoes.

 

Once he gets out on the ice, it’s just like any other game. Steve’s getting used to the Tornadoes home ice now, anticipating the bounces a little better, and apart from the discomfort of seeing Saxon blue attacking him rather than defending, there’s nothing wrong. It’s not like he was always a Saxon, he spent three years with the Scorpions and he’s done the face-your-old-team thing before.

The Saxons know him, of course, know his weak spots, and maybe it would have made sense for Digger to put Andrew in the net tonight as they’re not familiar with him. Still, Steve knows his weak spots too, and he’s talked to his defense, told them to look out for the Saxon attacks he’s expecting. It’s not hopeless.

 

It’s anything but hopeless.

For example, Steve knows that Kipper couldn’t collect a rebound if you sent him a reminder card and a timeslot, so when the shot comes in he bats it out of the way with his blocker, knocking it right onto Jaakko’s waiting stick so that Jaakko can pass it up to Tim and Tim can carry it through to the other end of the ice. They’re all set, then, for Tim to pass to André, for André to pass it to Ed, and then Ed can go low on Pete’s blocker and when Pete gets his blocker to it, somehow, André’s there to lift the puck back in and tuck it into the net.

It’s a reminder that this team actually has the potential to be really good.

Steve also knows that Finchy’s got a short fuse, so if he happened to mention that to Jasper and Jasper happens to be in Finchy’s way a lot, maybe it’s inevitable that sooner or later there’s a hooking call that sends the Tornadoes to the powerplay.

They might not have been doing very well this season, and they might still have a lot of communication issues, but the Tornadoes do have two solid powerplay units and the Saxons don’t have the best penalty kill.

The goal comes off a flurry of passes, so Steve can’t see from his net who actually got the tip in, but it’s Toffee who leads the boys to the bench and gets the credit.

Finchy comes out of the visitors’ penalty box looking even angrier than when he went in.

 

The team benches are shorter and deeper here than at most other rinks, which means that some guys have to sit in the second row between shifts and that you need to organise your line changes a little differently. The Tornadoes are used to it, on their home ice, but every now and then there’s a mistake from the visitors that’s caused by the way this place was built.

This time, the mistake’s from the Saxons and it leaves Frank and Toffee up in Saxons’ zone with enough time to pass the puck, so that Pete can’t predict where it’s coming from and can’t quite get his glove there in time. The puck skims the stitching on his glove and settles behind him, and the goal horn goes off for the third time.

 

“Right then.” Steve’s got the defense on either side of him in the locker room. It was apparently a decision that somebody made after the infamous fight during training, to split Jasper and Andy up and put the goalies in the middle. Maybe the thought was that even guys who were angry enough to punch a teammate would think twice about going through Andrew or Steve, but in practice it means that a defense huddle is easy to organise during the intermission.

“Jon’s going to be yelling at them right now because they won’t have expected to drop three like that, and he might switch Pete for Aarden. So, they’re probably going to push a lot harder, so watch out for that.”

“Right you are.” Jasper finishes re-taping a sock. “Nobody’s getting near you.”

 

That’s not strictly true, because Steve kills the puck twice in the first few minutes of the second period, but at least so far it’s nothing that he can’t stop.

They’re nearly halfway through the period when an offside call sets up a faceoff just outside the Saxons’ zone. André wins the draw, and then the puck’s on Ed’s stick and safely over the blue line. The Saxons’ defense are closing in, but Ed twists around them, darting to the left, and then when his push to the net is blocked he leaves the puck behind him for Tim to pick up and chip in. Screened by his own defense, Pete never saw it coming.

Steve’s never heard this much noise from a Tornadoes crowd.

Then again, he’s never been 4-0 up for them before.

 

Jon pulls Pete.

 

The Tornadoes make a real effort to get another one past Aarden while he’s cold, but the Saxons’ defense step it up and keep the shots to a minimum until he’s had a chance to settle in.

The Saxons’ offense step it up, too, and suddenly Steve’s facing a breakaway from James Ambrose. He’s played with James for two years, and James knows Steve’s play just a little too well. As soon as the puck leaves James’ stick, Steve knows he hasn’t got it, throwing himself into it and knowing it’s not enough even before the puck sails over his shoulder.

Andrew probably would have got that one.

 

He wouldn’t have got the second one, though. That one was a classic fuck-up where Jaakko wasn’t where Andy thought he was going to be, and Steve was two-on-one with the Saxons’ forwards, and there was no way to cover the whole net fast enough to stop them getting around him.

 

The buzzer for the end of the second leaves them 4-2 up.

Digger yells a lot.

 

The third seems to drag. Icing calls, offside calls. Nothing that actually gives anybody an advantage.

Steve doesn’t actually count shots himself, but he’s faced approximately one by the time the clock ticks into the last five minutes. Maybe two. Aarden’s probably seen about the same.

The Saxons are getting sloppy, getting frustrated, but it’s Colly who picks up the penalty for the Tornadoes. Two minutes for tripping, with four and a half minutes to play.

It’s hardly a surprise that Jon calls a time-out for the Saxons, and Digger doesn’t really need to tell the Tornadoes to expect an extra attacker.

Six on four. Great.

The guys close in around Steve, focussed entirely on shutting down the Saxons, on surviving the penalty. Whichever line the Saxons try to take, there’s a Tornado in the way, low to the ice, constantly moving and generally doing their best to spoil the Saxons’ plans.

It’s not enough, though. Everybody’s tired. The Saxons are keeping them tied up, swapping their guys in one at a time and forcing the Tornadoes first PK unit to drag out one endless shift, until an awkward bounce leaves the Saxons with a lane they weren’t expecting, and Steve’s just a fraction too slow as he stretches for the post.

 

Colly comes back out with three minutes and eight seconds left in the game.

They’re still a goal up.

Aarden stays on the bench.

 

André wins the faceoff again, and play spills into the Saxons’ zone. A frantic scramble from their defense takes the net off its moorings, and the whistle goes.

That’s got to be a delay of game penalty, there’s no way that was an accident… yes. Earnshaw’s got his arm in the air, and Kipper’s arguing all the way to the Saxons’ penalty box.

Aarden goes back to his net.

Less than three minutes to play now.

Less than two. The Saxons ice the puck. Steve collects it and sends it back to Elly at centre ice.

Minute and a half.

The penalty runs down, and the Saxons are back up to strength. Aarden’s not looking at the bench, but they couldn’t call him in for the extra attacker because the Tornadoes are playing it safe, clean passes intended more to keep possession and keep it in the zone than to push for that fifth goal.

Thirty seconds.

Twenty.

Ten.

 

The fans are yelling like they’ve just won the playoffs rather than a regular league game. The guys on the ice have crashed into a huddle right there by Aarden’s net, and the rest of the team are spilling onto the ice and heading right for Steve.

“Wooo!” Paul’s the first to get to him, and Steve remembers his enthusiasm from when they used to win stuff together before. It might be nice to get used to it again.

 

The handshake line takes forever, because almost everybody on the Saxons wants to slap Steve on the back or pull him into a half-hug, say something to him now that the game’s over. He didn’t look at any of them during warm-up, but now that they’re done he can say hi to his former teammates.

Aarden’s a perfunctory handshake, because they don’t actually know each other, but Pete’s at the back and he gets a hug.

“Good game.” Pete’s not as tall as Andrew, but he’s still taller than Steve. “Good to see you playing again.”

There’s not much Steve can say to Pete, after he got rinsed in the first half of the game, but then he’s never been much of a talker and Pete’s probably not expecting much.

“Thanks.”

“Text me, yeah, we’ll go for a beer?”

“Sure.” And he means it, actually. He’s still living near the Saxons, and now that he’s got hockey of his own it might be nice to catch up.

 

Andrew settles next to him while they’re waiting for the man of the match announcements, watching Steve go through his stretches.

“Good game.” He doesn’t look like he’s frustrated it was Steve in net and not him. “Finally got us the win.”

“We’re gonna keep it rolling.” Steve tells him, suddenly certain. “You and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anybody was wondering about timelines, since Rob appears here, this chapter is November 2016 and _kämppisten_ starts August 2018.


	7. November V

_Elly_

The U18s training finishes at six thirty on Wednesday, but it’s not worth going home after work so David’s at the rink by quarter to. 

Leon would probably prefer it if he waited in the car, so David goes in to the rink. Leon might accuse him of being a loser, but the rest of his team don’t think so. David’s not looking for fans, but it annoys Leon so he’s going to go in and pretend he doesn’t realise that he’s embarrassing him.

 

David doesn’t do this very often, so there are various kids who haven’t seen him here before. He nods to Marcus, who’s on the coaching staff, and then leans on the boards to watch. It’s not long before he hears  _ is that David Ellison? _ from one of the kids, followed by  _ what’s he doing here? _

_ He’s Steyner’s brother. _

David’s not looking directly at them, as they’ve obviously not realised that he can hear them, but he can see the moment the first kid connects  _ Ellison _ and  _ Ellison-Steyn. _

_ They don’t look like brothers… _

Well, that’s fair. Leon’s dark like his mum, David’s edging towards ginger from his dad.

_ I think they’re like step brothers or something. _

“Oi! Cody, Jordan, pay attention!” Marcus yells at them across the ice. “If these drills are boring you, we can skate some suicides!”

There’s a general wave of protest from the rest of the kids, and Cody and Jordan stop gossiping and get back to work.

David hides a smile and pretends he didn’t notice.

 

Leon doesn’t acknowledge him as he comes off the ice. He’s pushed his mask up, but he doesn’t look over at David let alone make eye contact. David’s not bothered - he enjoys winding up Leon, his disdainful little brother, but he doesn’t actually want to mess with Steyner, the U18s goalie. And yeah, technically they’re the same person, but David’s been playing long enough to respect a goalie’s headspace and leave him be.

Even if it is funny.

Leon’s one of the last out of the locker room, inevitably. He glares at David when he sees him.

“Just… why are you so…” Articulate as ever, he gives up on looking for a word to describe David. “Ugh.” He shoulders past and stalks towards the exit. David masks his smile behind a look of mild-mannered incomprehension that he knows will annoy Leon, and follows. 

 

Most of the other kids have gone, taken straight home by parents who have other children to feed and organise. There’s just one guy still waiting, sitting on one of the bollards with his kit piled by his feet as he scrolls through his phone.

David might be imagining the miniscule falter in Leon’s angry stride.

“Oh, hey, Steyner.” The other kid looks up from his phone and he has  _ got _ to be a Whittaker. He looks just like Jasper, and the extended Whittaker family are involved in pretty much every level of Tornadoes hockey. “Is your mum picking you up?”

“No.” Leon jabs a thumb towards David, sounding a bit like he needs to clear his throat. “My brother.”

“Oh, cool.” Whittaker Jr grins at David. “Elly, right?” Definitely related to Jasper, then. “Any chance I can scrounge a lift?”

Leon’s shoulders are tense. David glances over at him, and Leon actually meets his eyes. For once it’s like when they were younger and still cooperating, hiding from their parents just how late Leon had been allowed to stay up under David’s supervision, or how many bruises David had picked up at training.

Leon meets his eyes, and he’s still the same kid who sometimes needed David to get him what he wanted without having to say it.

David’s only got a second to work out if Leon’s thinking  _ give him a lift and don’t be a dork in front of my teammate  _ or if it’s  _ don’t make me get in a car with this arsehole. _

“Sure.” He turns to Whittaker Jr, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Leon’s shoulders relax just a fraction. “Where do you live?”

 

Whittaker Jr doesn’t seem to have a first name, but he lives a few streets away from Dad and Michelle and it’s easy to drop him off on the way.

David doesn’t miss having to haul his gear with him all the time, now that he can leave most of it at the rink and just takes his base layers home. At least that means there’s room in the back of the car for both Leon’s and Whitts’ kit bags. The sticks go on the back seat next to Whitts, who doesn’t even try for shotgun and puts his seatbelt on without being asked, although he does lean forwards once the car is moving.

He doesn’t stop talking the entire way home. He’s obviously aware that David is Jasper’s defense partner, and obviously unaware that Jasper’s alienated all of the other defensemen. He’s got strong opinions on the Tornadoes season to date, most of them quite intelligent once the bias towards Jasper is filtered out.

Leon breathes steadily through his nose and casts the occasional sideways glance at David to make sure he’s not about to say something hopelessly uncool and embarrass him in front of Whitts.

David does his best to oblige.

 

It seems very quiet in the car after they drop Whitts off. David can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t make him sound like Dad.

“How was he supposed to be getting home?”

“His family’s really busy.” Leon stares straight ahead. “Sometimes they run late.”

Given the number of different parts of the ice hockey organisation the Whittakers are involved in, David can believe that organising the kids in their extended family is a headache even before factoring in any other hobbies they might have.

“Do you know how he’s related to Jasper?”

“Cousin.” Leon comes right back with the answer. “Uh. I think. I mean, I’m pretty sure he said that.”

David’s waiting for a gap in the traffic so he can turn right into Dad’s road, so he can’t look at Leon to see why he sounds a bit strange.

“I mean, there’s loads of them, aren’t there.”

“Mmm.” Leon settles down a bit. “Braden’s got two brothers and a sister, and there’s a lot of cousins.”

“Was that Braden?”

“Yeah.” The  _ obviously, dumbass _ goes unspoken.

“You never actually told me his name.” David points out. 

“Ugh, God. Do you need to be introduced or something? You’re so lame.”

And just like that they’re back to normal.

 

***

_Andrew_

There’s no game on Saturday, and Digger’s agreed with the people who run the fan club that they can arrange a public skating session for people to actually get out on the ice with some of the guys.

It’s optional, on the understanding that at least half of them have to turn up. Guys like Woody who live further away can be excused, but the local guys are expected to make more of an effort.

Andrew goes to Mollie’s football game in the morning, yelling his encouragement from the sidelines and pitching in to the halftime pep-talk, and they pick up pizza on the way home for lunch.

 

“So, who do we get to meet at this thing this afternoon?” Sara holds out her water glass so that Andrew can top it up, since he’s closest to the jug.

“Are all of your friends going to be there?”

Sara grins at Andrew over Mollie’s head. Mollie hasn’t quite got the distinction between colleagues and friends yet, and Sara likes to encourage this.

“Not everybody. Probably more than half of them.”

“Who’s your  _ best _ friend? Is he going to be there?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Andrew stalls for time while he thinks about explaining how he doesn’t have a best friend anymore.

“I think Uncle Marc is still Daddy’s best friend.” Sara reminds Mollie.

Mollie finishes her mouthful. “But your best friend on the team? Is it the other goalie?”

Andrew doesn’t actually know the answer to that question. He’s not particularly close to any one of the guys. Maybe the defense more than the forwards, but that’s just because he’s still getting to know them. They’re not one of those teams who live in each others’ pockets.

“Woody hasn’t been with the team very long.” He reminds her. “I don’t know him very well yet.” It doesn’t help that Woody doesn’t really talk.

“You get on okay, though?” Sara pauses with a forkful of salad in her hand. “I mean… he’s not a Culpepper?”

Andrew shakes his head, before Mollie can pick up on that subject and start asking questions. Steve Woods is  _ nothing _ like Anthony Culpepper, it doesn’t take more than a few weeks to figure that out.

It wouldn’t take more than a few  _ days _ to figure that out.

“He’s not really like Marc, though. Woody’s very quiet.” Andrew directs the conversation back onto slightly safer ground. 

He’d played with Marc for three and a half seasons, first as back-up and then gradually taking the starting spot as Marc’s knee got worse and worse and Marc starting talking about surgery and about stopping playing. Even after Marc had to admit defeat, they’ve stayed friends and Marc was one of the people who kept Andrew sane during all the shit with Culpepper. They still text all the time, talk on the phone every couple of weeks, but since Marc and Allie moved back to France, it’s harder to meet up during the season.

“Is he coming today?” Mollie remembers to chew first and speak second, this time.

“Yes.” Even though he doesn’t have to. Paul had called him on it in the locker room, wondering why he’d come down if he didn’t have to, and Woody had just shrugged and told him that Danielle wanted to.

“Has he got children?” 

“Two. A boy and a girl.”

“Will they be like Sophie?”

Marc’s daughter Sophie is five years older than Mollie, and responded beautifully to a preschooler's hero worship, letting Mollie trail her everywhere and making sure she could keep up. Mollie misses her almost as much as Andrew misses Marc.

“No, Molls, they’re only little. Colton’s two and Phoebe’s just a baby.”

Mollie’s face falls, and Sara jumps in. “You’ll have to be Sophie, this time.”

 

Mollie likes that idea, but she’s hit with a fit of shyness when they get to the rink. It doesn’t matter, because they’re early and Woody’s not there yet. 

Sara’s already been drawn into a conversation with the fan club people about social media traffic. Andrew leaves her to it, knowing that she’ll catch up when she’s ready, and helps Mollie tie her skates.

She’s practicing standing up, shifting nervously from one foot to the other while Andrew laces his own skates, when an extra set of skate-clad feet come into his line of sight.

“You must be Mollie.” Everybody’s ankles look the same when they’re here for casual skating and not wearing shorts, so Andrew’s surprised to look up and find Digger talking to Mollie. “You look like your dad.”

She’s young enough to take that as a compliment, and still too shy to do anything other than nod.

“And you’re… nine? Ten?”

“Eight.” It’s quiet, but it’s a word.

“Really! Wow, you’re very grown up!”

Mollie giggles, and Andrew relaxes a little bit. It’s hard, when you normally only see somebody in one particular context, to remember that they can’t spend  _ all _ their time glaring at people and snapping out crisp instructions.

“Are you ready to skate, Molls?” Andrew stands up.

Mollie nods and reaches for his hand, but she does wave to Digger as they make their way to the door and Andrew smiles at him over her head.

 

It’s a little bit strange being out on the ice with his teammates without his pads on. It’s a little bit strange being out on the ice in long trousers, especially as he’s wearing his jersey and it’s too big when he only has a hoodie underneath.

Mollie’s also wearing a  _ Forsythe  _ jersey. She chose the away colours for her replica, and Andrew’s in his home jersey, so they coordinate. They complete three easy laps of the ice, Mollie getting her confidence back quickly once she gets started, and then Sara follows them out. She chose not to wear a jersey, although she’s stolen his team jacket.

Sara’s as competent at skating as she is at anything else that she does a couple of times each year. She ignores them completely for her first lap, concentrating on getting her balance, and then pretends to lose control just as she catches them up, knowing that Andrew will catch her and it’ll make Mollie laugh.

“Having fun?” Andrew puts her back on her feet.

“Yup.” Sara looks around and waves to one of her new friends. “Everybody seems really nice.”

It’s always a mystery to Andrew how the idiots he plays with - not just here, but on every team - manage to end up with such amazing wives and girlfriends. Then again, Sara’s well out of his league so it’s not like he’s got room to talk.

 

It’s somehow not a surprise to discover that Woody’s wife is as talkative as he is quiet. Andrew can’t imagine how they would ever have got together if Danielle was as reserved as Woody - however, she’s over by the boards with Paul’s wife Susie, presumably catching up on what’s changed since Woody and Paul last played together, and she’s doing the bulk of the talking while Susie takes the opportunity to steal baby Phoebe.

Colton is definitely his mother’s son. Woody leads him gently onto the ice and Colton doesn’t stop talking for a second even when he wobbles and almost falls.

At that age, they’re not so scared of falling, and they get right back up again when they do, but Woody’s got tight hold of both of his hands and Colton’s clearly done this before even if he hasn’t completely got the hang of walking on solid ground yet.

“Did you used to skate like that with me, Daddy?” Mollie’s followed his line of sight to the Woods family.

“Daddy would be too tall for that.” Sara’s laughing at the thought of Andrew bending down far enough to hold up a toddler. “But you didn’t really go skating until you were a bit bigger than that anyway.”

“But you used to take me on the ice, right?” Mollie checks with Andrew, because although she’s heard all the stories she doesn’t remember it for herself. “After the games?”

“That’s right.” Andrew notices that the public part of the skate must be open, as there are people he doesn’t know starting to make their way onto the ice. “Do you want to say hi to Woody before it gets busy?”

 

Mollie goes shy again, when Andrew takes her over to Woody and Colton.

“Getting the next generation started young?”

Woody grins at him. “Danielle said he had to at least start walking before I was allowed to get him in skates.” He lets go of one of Colton’s hands, now that they’re not moving, and Colton grabs a fistful of his trousers at about knee height.

“This is Mollie.” Andrew pulls her in under his arm. “Molls, this is Woody.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Mollie manages a smile but doesn’t say anything. This is probably the best person on the team for her to be quiet at, though, and Woody doesn’t seem to mind.

“And this is Colton.” Woody bends down to get Colton’s attention, letting him have his second hand free. “Are you going to say hi, Colton?”

“Hiya!” Colton grins, showing off a full set of teeth. “Skating!”

“Do you like skating?” Mollie’s prepared to talk to Colton, at least.

“Skating!” He agrees, then clearly makes a decision, pushing himself away from Woody’s legs and taking two very wobbly steps to get to Mollie. It’s more of a crash landing than a graceful stop, but Mollie’s already leaning against Andrew and doesn’t fall over at the impact.

“You going to skate with Mollie?” Woody asks, glancing at Andrew to check if that’s okay.

“You okay with that, Molls?”

“He’s very small.” Mollie looks worried.

“He doesn’t have very far to fall.” Woody reassures her. “And if you smile when he falls over he thinks it’s fun.”

“Will you stay with me?” Mollie looks up at Andrew, obviously wanting to skate with Colton since he’s asked, but nervous about the responsibility. 

“Of course we will. And Mummy will too when she catches up.” Andrew drops that in there in case he or Woody gets called away to interact with fans, although Colton’s small enough that Woody probably won’t want to leave him anyway.

 

It’s one quarter of a very slow lap to get to where Danielle is waiting by the boards.

“Since you’ve got your hands free,” she hands over an extremely well-wrapped baby, “you can take Feeb.”

At her age it’s probably too soon to tell if she’s going to be a talker, but Phoebe doesn’t make any noise as she looks around at what’s going on, one tiny arm braced against Woody’s chest. 

“She loves being out on the ice.” Woody explains. “I need to ask Digger if I can bring her out after a game sometimes.”

“I used to do that.” It’s hard to believe, looking at Mollie as she focuses on keeping Colton upright, that she was ever as small as Phoebe.

“Colton hated it.” Woody shifts Phoebe into a more secure grip. “Well. He liked it, but he always wanted to get down and get into everything. And that’s not really practical.” He nods to Mollie and Colton, where he’s kept his attention the whole time. “You’ve only got one?”

“Yup.” Andrew’s used to shutting down that question, and Woody’s very good at reading between the lines so he won’t push.

“Doesn’t look like she’s old enough for babysitting, though?”

That’s a joke. Woody makes jokes occasionally, Andrew is starting to discover.

“Nah, it’ll be a couple of years before she’s earning her keep.”

“She’s doing okay so far.”

Colton hasn’t fallen once since he grabbed onto Mollie, despite some wobbles. It helps that they’re not going very fast, as Mollie’s being very careful and also isn’t very quick when she’s going backwards anyway. She’s paying attention to Colton’s chatter and seems to be following what he’s saying, which is better than Andrew can do.

“She’s good at making friends. Queen Bee, just like her mum.”

“Colton too. Chatterbox, just like his.”

“What like her mum?” Sara glides into place next to them, apparently finished with her warm up laps.

“Beautiful and popular.” Andrew paraphrases.

“Is that actually what he said?” Sara looks to Woody. 

“Absolutely.”

“Sara, this is Steve Woods. Woody, my wife, Sara.”

“Nice to meet you.” Sara smiles. She’ll know that Woody was helping Andrew cover up what he’d actually said, but she’ll also know that Andrew won’t have said anything rude. “And who’s Mollie’s new friend?”

“This is Colton!” Mollie looks up briefly but doesn’t let go. Colton twists to see who she’s talking to, and wobbles as he turns his grin on Sara.

Sara and Andrew both automatically reach out to keep the children on their feet, as Woody’s hands are full. Sara gets there first, and Woody doesn’t seem to mind at all that somebody he’s just met is looking after his son. Hockey’s a bit like that, in most teams, half of the guys are just an extension to your family.

 

“Please can I take a picture?”

The fan who’s asking is about eleven, maybe, and wearing a  _ Szabó  _ jersey. That’s one set of parents who would have been frustrated when Gregor left, then.

“Sure!” Andrew happily crouches down so that the kid’s dad can get them both in shot.

“Will Woody…?” 

It seems that Woody’s reluctance to chat has been noticed by the fans. Andrew catches Woody’s eye, but it looks like he was expecting to take his turn.

“Swap you.”

Andrew finds himself holding the baby, as Woody poses for a picture. Woody doesn’t need to crouch. Phoebe doesn’t seem at all bothered about being passed over to somebody she doesn’t know, just turns a faintly puzzled expression on Andrew and reaches for the stubble of his beard.

Once the photo is done, Woody comes to stand next to them but doesn’t immediately reach for Phoebe. “I think they’d better go back to Mummy.”

A quick glance around shows that the bravery of the first kid is encouraging other fans to think about talking to them. It probably is best if they don’t need to focus on their own children for a bit.

“Do you want me to take her?”

Andrew looks down at where Phoebe’s curled her fingers into the collar of his jersey. “I don’t mind.”

Mollie and Colton have already wobbled on under Sara’s supervision, and are about to reach Danielle’s spot by the boards, so it’s quick work for Andrew and Woody to join them. Phoebe starts to fuss when Danielle takes her, and Danielle sighs.

“You can tell she’s your daughter,” she tells Woody, obviously not for the first time. “Never wants to get off the ice.”

“This is Andrew, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. Thank you for not dropping our daughter.” There’s a smile in her voice that says she knows that he wouldn’t.

“Any time. Hopefully my daughter won’t drop your son.”

“Oh, he bounces.” Danielle’s pretty relaxed. “And he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“We’re going to have to go and do fan things,” Woody explains, “so I’m bringing him back.”

“Leaving me with the tantrums?” Danielle doesn’t sound angry, just resigned. That’s how these things go, though, Andrew and Woody are technically here to work. “Colton, time to come in for a bit.”

Colton frowns and his bottom lip starts to wobble.

“We should…” Woody eases back a couple of steps.

“Mummy, can I have a hot chocolate?” Mollie’s delivered Colton to the open gate, but she’s also stepping off the ice behind him. “If we’re stopping for a bit?”

There’s no way Mollie’s ready to take a break, and the look she shoots at Sara is clearly supposed to be conspiratory. Colton might not mind coming off the ice if his new friend is coming too.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Sara waits for them to give her space to get off the ice, and looks at Danielle. “I’m Sara, by the way.”

“Come on.” Andrew grabs Woody’s elbow. “Let’s go and meet some fans.” The women in their lives have everything under control.


	8. November VI

_Elly_

The Cobras’ bus is already parked outside when David gets to the rink. It’s the longest journey in the league, Wakefield to Tonbridge, and it looks like the Cobras have chosen to travel early and give themselves some time to spare at this end of the road.

A couple of their bench staff are organising sticks and water bottles, but it looks like all of the players are involved in the football game that’s taking place at the far side of the car park.

Well. Most of the players. Stone’s stretching in the corridor between the locker rooms, using a foam roller and wearing a pair of enormous noise-cancelling headphones. There’s a kid David doesn’t know hovering awkwardly in the doorway to the away locker room - although to be fair he doesn’t know most of the younger guys in this league. The kid glances nervously at David as he passes, and Stone pushes his headphones down to hang round his neck.

“What is it, Billy?” He looks right past David as if he’s not there, and David doesn’t slow down.

“Um. Can I get my phone out of your bag?”

Stone sighes. “Yeah. Just make sure you put it back when you’re finished, don’t leave it lying around.”

David doesn’t hear any more, because the Tornadoes locker room door opens and the sound of the rookies chirping spills out into the corridor.

 

“Right then, guys.” Digger lets the door swing closed behind him, and the noise level in the room drops. “We took these guys to overtime last time, and tonight we’ve got home ice advantage, so let’s have both points, shall we? We’re fresher than they are, because they didn’t have the night off yesterday and they’ve just spent all day on the bus, so let’s make the most of it. Don’t let them draw you into penalties, because we all know that they like to agitate. Keep your heads and stick to the plan.”

David’s glad that Digger didn’t specify  _ which _ plan. Jasper’s getting better at communicating with him on the ice and on the bench, but so far they haven’t progressed to following Digger’s instructions.

Baby steps.

“They’ll be starting Stone, obviously, and it’s his second game of the weekend so let’s hope he’s feeling his age.”

David doesn’t miss the glance that passes between Andrew and Woody, who are both around Stone’s age.

Digger looks around the room. “Two points, guys. Let’s get this done!”

There’s a swell of enthusiasm, and Digger heads out to do whatever it is he does just before they hit the ice. Woody shuffles over to the door, clearly most of the way into his game headspace already, and everybody else starts organising themselves into the right order.

“Why is it obvious that Stone’s starting?” David still can’t always tell Michael and Oscar apart when they’re behind him. “I thought their other guy was really good?”

“Yeah, but he’s not here.” Biscuit clearly enjoys knowing something the others don’t. “Maybe he’s ill. So they’ve got their third string guy. I don’t know his name but he looks terrified. I thought he was going to run away when I said hi as I came in.”

That must have been the kid in the corridor, then. That would explain why he was nervous, if this is his first call-up.

“Are we ready, boys?” Tim’s question is at least 85% rhetorical. “ARE WE READY?!”

 

It feels, finally, like Digger’s plans and focus on their offense are coming together, because it seems like they spend the whole period at the Cobras’ end of the ice. The Tornadoes consistently have possession of the puck, and Stone’s standing on his head to keep their shots out.

David only has to chase down a handful of attempts on the Tornadoes’ net, and none of them feel particularly dangerous.

They get their first goal on the powerplay. Marcus Wainwright gets two minutes for slashing - a fine example for the captain to be setting - and he’s barely sat down when Toffee buries the puck over Stone’s shoulder.

The second goal comes twenty seven seconds later. André wins the faceoff, sends the puck back to David. David carries it up to the line, ignoring Jasper’s call and stick tap because that’s just a diversion, slides it across to Ed. Ed goes straight for the net, dropping the puck at the last moment for André to scoop it up and fire it through the gap that Stone’s left as he’s moved to cover Ed.

 

At the end of the period, the shot count is 23 on Stone and 3 on Woody.

 

It’s a clear sign that Digger thinks things are going well when he taps the rookies to go out. Biscuit puts in a solid shift with David. Michael’s passes are exactly the way Digger coaches them to play. Oscar gets a beautiful shot on Stone, and Andrew whistles quietly on the bench next to David. 

“That was a cracking save. I mean, I wish it had gone in, obviously, but still. Nice one.”

 

The Cobras get one back halfway through the period. It’s a messy scramble, and Woody’s yelling at the ref afterwards about interference, but the goal goes up on the scoreboard anyway.

“Don’t let this one slip away, boys.” Digger doesn’t need to shout.

 

They get called for Too Many Men a minute later, and Oscar gets sent over to the box. The rest of the rookies probably won’t get off the bench tonight.

They kill the penalty, and kill it hard. Stone sees more of the puck than Woody does during the two minutes, and then Oscar’s released and skating hard for the bench just like Digger tells them to.

It’s not his fault he gets in Craig Patterson’s way.

Well. You need to keep your head up. But Patterson stumbles slightly, swerving automatically to avoid tripping over Oscar, and Colly’s right there to steal the puck.

Patterson could go after Colly and the puck, or he could go for a shift change since they’re not far from the bench and David can clearly hear Archer’s roar of  _ Patty! _ but instead the red mist descends and he grabs for Oscar.

Oscar’s still moving, probably not fully aware of who he just derailed, and the hand on his collar jerks him backwards. He doesn’t even have time to get his arms up before Patterson hits him.

It’s pure luck that OB happens to be on the ice - lucky for the Tornadoes, that is, as at least he won’t be leaving the bench to join a fight. Not so lucky for Patterson, who’s still blinking at where he’s crumpled Oscar onto the ice when OB gets to him.

OB doesn’t hit people from behind, he bellows his rage and gives them a chance to turn and face him before his first punch lands. Patterson’s gloves are already on the ice, and OB’s are falling before Patterson can brace for the first swing. It doesn’t take much more before both helmets are gone too, and all the guys on both benches are on their feet yelling while Digger and Archer try to stop anybody from going over the boards to join in.

Not that anybody from the Tornadoes bench needs to. OB’s got this.

It’s almost clinical. He’s got a grip on Patterson’s jersey with his left hand, up by the collar, and his right fist connects smoothly with Patterson’s face. Patterson’s got a similar grip on OB’s jersey, but OB’s got the longer reach so that actually just brings Patterson closer into range. Patterson’s knuckles graze OB’s jaw, but OB shakes him off like it tickled and then punches him again.

Patterson goes down on the third hit, and the circling officials swoop in. OB doesn’t even follow him down to make sure he stays, just backs up and waves to the howling crowd.

It takes a second for David to realise that OB also moved the fight several feet along the ice, away from where Janine’s come out to check on Oscar.

Oscar stays down while Patterson is being shipped off to the penalty box. They’re all still close enough to the benches that David can hear OB talking to the linesman.

“Yeah, just give me a sec. Let me see that the kid’s…”

They must have just been waiting for the space, because Oscar’s being picked up a moment later. He’s wobbly on his feet, but the crowd probably can’t see how much of his weight is being taken by Janine and Paul as they glide him the short distance to the gate and take him straight down to the locker room. OB nods to the linesman, and skates calmly off to the penalty box where his gloves, stick and helmet are already waiting for him.

 

There’s a long pause while the officials confer, waving Tim and Wainwright away when they try to join the conversation, and then the noise from the crowd swells as Patterson and OB both come back out of the boxes and head for their locker rooms.

“Elly.” Digger taps David on the shoulder, making him jump. “Sit the minors.”

David doesn’t question it, just grabs his stick and goes over the boards and across to the penalty box. One of the younger guys from the Cobras is heading across the ice for the same reason, although Archer’s chosen a rookie. Digger’s obviously planning for David to jump right into the game play when the clock runs out.

It’s hard to hear the announcement over the crowd, but once the puck’s dropped and play starts again, they repeat that Patterson’s got two plus two for fighting and a match penalty for attempting to injure another player. OB’s got two plus two for fighting, which David’s sitting for him, and a ten minute misconduct for joining a fight. Since he won’t be allowed back on the ice until 14 minutes have passed, and there’s only seven left in the period, he’s been sent through to the locker room in the hope of calming things down.

At least, that’s David’s assumption. The decisions the refs make seem to be completely random some games.

 

OB’s sitting in his stall when they troop through to the locker room at the end of the period, score still at 2-1. He’s shed his jersey but Janine’s obviously been concentrating on Oscar, who’s passed the concussion testing and is clearly feeling okay based on the way he’s complaining when Janine orders him to hit the showers.

“I’m  _ fine! _ I want to go back out for the third!”

“Oscar.”

He deflates when Tim backs up Janine, and starts stripping off his base layers like the sulky teenager that he actually is. David forgets sometimes that the rookies aren’t much older than Leon.

Janine doesn’t even blink, all too used to hockey nudity by now.

“Right then, Tom. Let’s have a look.” She ducks around Colly to get to OB. “What’s the damage?”

“I’m all good.” OB grins at her. “Barely touched me.”

“You’re covered in blood.” Janine grabs a packet of antiseptic wipes. “All over your knuckles.”

OB’s grin gets wider. “Oh, that’s not mine.”

Janine just tuts at him, like she’s heard it all before - which to be fair she probably has - and attacks him with the wipes.

“See? Not a scratch!” OB shows off his cleaned-up hand, and it’s true that there’s not a mark on him from the fight. “Might bruise a bit tomorrow, so I’ll take a-”

Janine shoves an ice pack at him before he can finish, and he hisses at the cold. 

“Thanks, Janine.” He gets like this after a fight, the anger drains away immediately but he’s bouncing with adrenaline and looking to cause trouble in a harmless kind of a way. Nobody ever wants to sit near him on the bus ride home if he fights during an away game, not because he’s aggressive but just because he’s  _ annoying. _

 

OB’s back with them for the third, heading to the penalty box after a couple of warm-up laps to finish his ten minute misconduct.

Oscar’s still getting dressed when the puck drops, and there’s no sign of Patterson who won’t be allowed near the bench after being ejected from the game.

The Cobras are pushing to equalise, knowing that just one goal could open the door for overtime or the chance to go ahead. They’re pushing too hard, maybe, because OB’s only just been released when Bastian Pinault sends Ed flying and picks up a tripping penalty in the process.

“They’re not getting this game back.” Jasper knocks his shoulder against David’s as they head out for the faceoff. 

Justin’s fastest to the puck, and snaps it back to Jasper without looking. The Cobras are closing in around their net, trying to close the lanes. Jasper passes to David and David sends it straight down to Toffee, deeper in the zone. Toffee handles the puck, keeping it moving while the Cobras anticipate what he’s going to do next, and then passes back up to Jasper on the blue line.

Jasper winds up for a shot on the net, chipping it to his left at the last moment so that David can step and fire.

Stone just can’t quite close the door fast enough, and the net ripples as the puck lands square in the back.

David punches both fists into the air, and the crowd echoes Jasper’s yell as Jasper himself crashes in for a hug that David’s not ready for. Toffee slams in on his other side, Justin bumps in behind Jasper, and Frank’s got long enough arms to reach over the top and smack him on the helmet with an affection that makes David’s ears ring.

Pinault slams his stick against the boards as he comes out of the box.

  
  


Back to back wins, and the locker room is jumping. Woody’s grinning as he unbuckles his pads, Toffee and Ed are wrestling for control of the speakers. Digger actually laughed at something.

OB is as bouncy and annoying as he usually is after a fight, rattling from teammate to teammate looking for somebody to share his enthusiasm with.

Oscar was already changed when they came through, so he’s just sitting in his stall next to OB’s, apparently unbothered by the noise levels - although he does look a bit… shifty.

Now that David’s paying attention, the rookies are obviously up to something.

OB comes back to his stall, drops his undershirt onto the pile of his stuff, and bounces back to weigh in on the playlist argument.

Oscar checks that OB’s attention is elsewhere, leans over, steals something from OB’s stall and is sitting innocently back in his own space seconds later with whatever-it-was secreted behind him.

A moment later, Michael does the same from his spot on the other side of OB’s stall.

Biscuit’s stall is next to Michael’s, and he casually picks up whatever Michael stole and moves it to his own spot.

OB comes back, adds his leggings to the mess and goes to annoy Tim.

Michael repeats the move.

Biscuit deposits something in Jasper’s stall, which is the next one along. Jasper’s in the shower, so he’s not there to stop him.

Oscar passes his stolen goods along to Colly, who looks confused for a moment and then puts the item on the floor, kicking it back into the shadows under the bench. Oscar’s just leaning into OB’s stall again when OB himself starts to head back to his kit.

“OB!” Shit, now David has to think of something to say. OB’s ambling towards him. “How’s the bruising?”

Oh well, at least he already has a reputation for being boring.

“Not bad.” OB shakes out his hand, a little too close to David’s face, and then shows him the red marks on his knuckles. “Nothing in Patterson’s skull to do any real damage with.”

David laughs, because he’s expected to and because OB’s grin is infectious. OB squeezes his shoulder with slightly more force than he probably realises, and ambles back to his stall which is now totally clear of any rookie activity.

Behind OB’s back, Oscar mouths  _ thank you _ at David, and then throws the item he’s holding. David catches it automatically and finds himself in possession of OB’s deodorant.

Across the room, OB’s digging through his bag. He pulls out his shower gel, sets it next to the bag, and keeps hunting.

David starts stripping for the showers, concealing the deodorant in his discarded clothing, and waits to see what happens.

“Hey, has anybody seen my…?” OB looks up, puzzled. “Has somebody taken my shampoo?”

Give them their due, the rookies are good at looking innocent. Michael and Biscuit chime in with protests at being accused, and Oscar swipes the shower gel while OB’s distracted.

Most of the room has noticed, by now, and Andrew casually accepts the bottle from Oscar as he’s passing.

“Where’s my…?” OB turns on the spot when he realises that the shower gel has gone too. “Come on, guys.” He’s grinning, though, because when he’s in this kind of mood he just loves the attention. “I need to shower.”

There’s a general chorus of agreement that OB does indeed need to shower.

“Come on then, who’s got it?” OB starts towards Ed’s stall, which doesn’t make a lot of sense to David. Ed’s the main perpetrator of pranks on the team, but he doesn’t sit anywhere near OB.

Woody leans forwards in his stall and catches Michael’s attention.  _ “Towel!” _ Michael swipes OB’s towel, and is looking around frantically for somewhere to hide it when Jasper comes out of the showers, takes in the scene and immediately grabs the towel and retreats. When he comes back a second later the towel is gone.

David wraps his own towel securely round his hips and escapes to the showers.

The roar when OB discovers the latest theft is audible over the water.

 

OB’s one of the last up to the bar, inevitably, one of the last to get into the showers after his missing towel turned up on the hook in the end shower, the one which doesn’t get any water pressure, and Oscar kindly offered to let OB borrow his toiletries.

The stolen items are arranged on the shelf behind the bar when he gets there, and all of the bar staff swear blind they’ve been there all week.


	9. December I

_Andrew_

Andrew knows that it’s weird, even by goalie standards, but he actually quite likes penalty shots. There’s only one other guy out there, no teammates to pass to, no other guys planting their giant padded butts in Andrew’s field of vision.

Just one other guy to focus on, one other guy to read and predict.

It doesn’t hurt, of course, that penalty shots were Culpepper’s weak spot, and hearing one of the most respected fans saying  _ thank God we had Forsythe in net for that because Culpepper would have lost it for us _ remains one of the bright memories from an unhappy time.

He’s new to this league, and he doesn’t actually have any first-hand experience of the mindset that has the rest of the guys convinced that the Tornadoes are supposed to be invincible and the Huskies are supposed to be hopeless, so he’s not reeling with the same shock that some of the other guys are clearly feeling to find that they’ve come out of the other side of overtime and it’s come down to this.

 

Andrew’s the first in net, and the Huskies’ captain takes the first shot. Walker’s line is easy to read, though, and although his shot is hard and clean Andrew can see exactly where it’s going to go and it doesn’t feel difficult at all to get his stick to it.

 

He skates back over to the bench, glancing at the ref to check if he’s going to make him get off the ice or if he doesn’t mind Andrew settling in with his back pressed to the boards, and André heads out to shoot on Prince.

 

Andrew’s faced enough of André’s shots in training to know that he likes to show off, likes to make it fancy and hard to predict, but it goes against him now when he makes too many fakes and leaves his actual shot to the last second. Prince closes his glove around the puck as if André had passed it to him.

 

Andrew’s back out. Tkáč’s up for the Huskies, and his shot’s harder to interpret than his surname. He comes in fast, keeping the puck on his stick until he’s almost on top of Andrew and the only way he could score should be to lift the puck over Andrew’s pads - his face is blank, and Andrew’s probably never going to know if poking the puck underneath him instead was always the plan or just a lucky coincidence.

 

Andrew swaps with Toffee.

 

Toffee’s great on penalties, and although you can never relax when your guy’s out there this is probably as close to  _ chill  _ as it’s possible to be. Toffee’s just nice to watch, because you don’t know how he’s going to do it but you know that that puck is going to go in. Even after playing and training with him for a couple of months, Andrew has to admit that he believes Toffee’s body language when it’s so obvious that he’s going to shoot hard from several metres out. Andrew probably would have got his shoulder to the puck when Toffee actually skates it forward a little further and spins it into the top corner of the net, although he can’t say if he’d have been fast enough to deflect it out of the net, but Prince is built like Woody and his shoulder just has that much further to go.

 

Back to the net, and this time it’s King on the ice for the Huskies. He weaves his way down so Andrew can’t be entirely sure where he’s going, dekes to Andrew’s left in a move that Andrew’s  _ certain _ is the shot, and then shoots to Andrew’s right instead. The puck’s coming in too fast, even as Andrew’s throwing himself back across the net, he’s not going to get to it-

The ring of the post is the best sound. That wasn’t Andrew’s save.

 

Colly’s next up, and if this goes in then they’ve won.

Colly’s shots are deceptively simple. It always looks like he’s going for something safe, and sometimes he does and sometimes he waits until the last second and does something fancy.

Sometimes  _ something fancy _ is a bad idea, as he overcooks it and whiffs the shot completely. Sometimes it’s a beautiful unexpected backhand that sails uncontested over Prince’s shoulder and straight into the back of the net.

Andrew shoves himself away from the boards towards where Colly’s wheeling and looking for somebody to hug, as the rest of the guys spill over the boards behind him in celebration.   
  
  


***

It’s not embarrassing to lose to the Pumas, they’re playing hot right now, and 6-3 is a hell of a lot better than 6-0.

6-7 would have been better, though.

Maybe it’s a tipping point, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but on Tuesday’s training Marcus is running the forwards through their drills and Digger’s attention turns to the defense.

 

“I like the way you’re communicating out there.”

Andrew’s not a part of the defense huddle, but he definitely needs to be over here, because…

He needs to switch his water bottle. Yes, that’s it.

“I have noticed the improvement over the last few weeks, so don’t think I haven’t - but don't go thinking that I haven’t noticed that you’re not following the game plans either.”

Jasper opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, and Elly casually wedges the butt of his stick under Jasper’s arm, right up where the gap in his pads will be.

“So, now that you know how to talk to each other, you need to try listening to me.” Digger leaves a little pause, to give the illusion that they could express an opinion at this point, if they had one. “Okay? So, let’s start at the back, and I want to see three drills to set up a play from behind our own net.” There’s another little pause. “Go!”

They scatter, and Andrew takes his water bottle back down to where he’s supposed to be trading out with Woody in the shooting drill that Marcus is running.

 

***

_Elly_

David’s phone rings while he’s still holding it, staring at it blankly and wondering whether he should have left Natalie a voicemail when she didn’t answer.

“Hello.”

“Hi! Sorry I didn’t answer, my phone was right at the bottom of my bag. Just missed you.”

It was the right decision not to leave a message, then. Last time this happened she’d called him back while he was leaving the voicemail, and it had taken then about five minutes of call waiting and engaged tones to actually start talking.

“I was just calling because, um, you know how you said you were going to be on your own at Christmas, and you said I should maybe come up?”

“Yes…?” Obviously she’s guessed that this plan has hit a snag.

“Well, since my mum’s away my stepmum just sort of assumed I was coming to them, and then when I said you were on your own and I was thinking of driving up to you, she told me that I should bring you with me, and um…” It’s pointless arguing with Michelle when she’s decided something. “So, uh, I said I’d invite you. Don’t feel like you have to if you think it’s a bit much or whatever.”

“So this is you inviting me to Christmas at your Dad’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Your Dad’s ridiculously posh house with a tennis court in the garden?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“With your stroppy teenage brother who’s really easy to wind up?”

“...Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Really?” David wasn’t actually expecting her to say yes.

“Yes, sure, why not? I’m not anti family Christmas, I’m just anti spending Christmas with my sister-in-law’s super religious extended family.”

“And you don’t mind doing Meet The Parents at Christmas?”

“Will you stage a fight with your brother as a distraction if it all gets too much?”

“Sure.” David has to laugh at that, because there’s no way that a row with Leon would make things anything other than  _ more _ awkward, but if Natalie’s prepared to do this, David’s absolutely on board. “Cool.”

It’s Natalie’s turn to laugh. “Were you expecting me to take more convincing than that?”

“Maybe. I mean, I’d like you to come, I just didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

“No, no, it’s cool. Much better than sitting at home on my own, and this way I can tell Josie that I’m meeting your family and she’ll accept that excuse.” Natalie doesn’t get on with her brother’s wife.

“You can tell her you’ll be chaperoned at all times.”

Natalie laughs again. “Can I now?”

“Well. I mean, it won’t be  _ true. _ But you can tell her that.” Dad and Michelle aren’t the kind of people who’d insist that at twenty-eight he couldn’t share a bed with a girl he’s not married to.

“Oh, god, she’ll be expecting us to get engaged.” There’s a pause, and Natalie barrels on. “And it’s way too soon for that. Right?”

“Right.” Definitely too soon.

“Right. Good.”

 

***

_Woody_

Just when it seems like things might be coming together, just when Mike’s back playing full shifts and Digger’s communicating with the defense, just when it finally feels like they’re playing well, the whole team goes down with the Plague.

Janine says they’re a bunch of wimps and it’s just a bug, but that doesn’t change that the bus ride home from Wakefield last night is something nobody ever wants to relive.

Luckily there are a lot of places to stop on the M1, and the bus driver decided very quickly that he’d rather be late home than face cleaning up after restricting them to just the on-board toilet for a couple of hours at a time.

 

They’ve got the Cobras again today, at home this time, and it doesn’t look like they managed to infect any of them last night based on how they’re laughing as they come into the rink.

It’s just one of those things with the way the schedules work out, that it seems like they’ve faced the Cobras every other game recently. They haven’t seen the Griffins since October and won’t play them again until the middle of January, it’s just how it goes.

Steve’s starting tonight. Digger’s called Tommy in to dress and sit on the bench, because Andrew can’t get out of bed. They’ve also lost Jaakko and one forward from each of the top three lines. Andy doesn't look great. Colly’s unusually quiet.

It’s going to be a long evening.

 

The Cobras have brought their third-string netminder again - except he’s not their third, not anymore. Rob’s not ill this weekend, he’s been called up to the Elite League as cover for a guy with a broken foot. Hopefully he’ll get the chance to be recognised while he’s there. He’s got real potential and he deserves to do well.

The nervous kid with no surname on his jersey is the Cobras’ back-up now. Steve should probably at least find out what his name is.

 

Steve’s stomach is as steady as ever when he skates out for the first period. Digger’s done some rapid reshuffling of the lines, so Justin’s got Tim and Toffee on his wings, Mike and Jasper on D.

It’s not fair to say that it’s better without Jaakko there, but something seems to have clicked with the defense pairings. They’re communicating, but Mike’s also very good at reading the play when Jasper reacts to something. Elly and Andy aren’t generating much in the way of offensive chances, but they’re very effective in shut-down mode. 

Digger’s pretty much just running two lines, rotating Justin’s line with Kyle, Ed and Colly and occasionally sending OB out on a wing to give somebody a break. It takes them a while to find their feet, chances getting turned away at the Cobras net again and again, but eventually, inevitably, the Cobras pick up a penalty and the Tornadoes are on the powerplay.

Nobody from the second unit is currently at home hugging a toilet, so Tim, Kyle, Ed, Colly and Mike head out for the puck drop.

The Cobras must be getting used to them, because they’ve met a lot recently and the Cobras do tend to take a lot of penalties, but the guys are slightly off tonight and somehow that’s an advantage. Colly’s just that fraction slower tonight, but the Cobras are reacting to what they’re expecting him to do rather than what he’s actually doing, and they’ve left a lane wide open for Colly to tap the puck across to Mike and for Mike to step and shoot.

Digger’s makeshift replacement for their usual first powerplay unit doesn’t even need to touch the ice.

 

Steve would love to know what happened in the visitors’ locker room during the first intermission, because their offense just crumbles in the second period. None of their passes are connecting, they can’t finish any plays. It reminds Steve of the atmosphere between Jasper and Andy when he first got to the team, except that it’s worse because it’s infecting the whole of their two top lines. It’s like they’re not even trying, which is ridiculous when there’s only one goal in the game and the Tornadoes are clearly not at their best.

Colly’s looking increasingly grey. OB’s taking more shifts, and finally Digger gives in to the inevitable and starts rotating Oscar and Michael in.

The Cobra’ defense is still functional, and Stone’s on form as he turns away shot after shot. The Tornadoes have possession most of the time, and they’re getting chance after chance but Stone’s meeting them every time.

There’s a sense of pressure, that they have to get that second goal, extend the lead, but although Steve spends a lot of the period with one arm draped along the crossbar, watching the action from a distance, the buzzer goes with the score still held at 1-0.

Shots on goal for the period are announced at 23 on Stone and 2 on Steve.

 

Colly hits the showers.

 

Biscuit finally gets a shift in the third, out on the ice with reliable Mike, backing up Justin, Tim and Toffee because even in circumstances like these Digger’s wary of putting more than one rookie out there at once.

Steve thinks that they’ll learn better if they actually see some minutes, but it’s not his place to say so. There’s only one goal in it, anyway. Given how inexperienced the guys are thanks to Digger’s methods, it would be best to let them loose with a bit more of a buffer.

Not that they’re exactly spoilt for options at the moment, as Andy shakes his head when Digger taps him for a shift change, and then bolts for the locker room on the next icing call.

They limp on with two defensive pairings - including Biscuit - and two and a bit forward lines. Michael’s taken a couple of faceoffs with great concentration, and even Stone looks surprised that Oscar’s latest shot didn’t go in.

 

The Cobras are still struggling to put an offensive play together, but Steve has to face down a breakaway from Wainwright - far more dangerous than any plays that require the Cobras to actually look at each other - and there’s a messy scramble where Biscuit and one of the Cobras both end up in the net but the puck somehow stays out.

Steve skates a loop to the glass while the refs put the net back, and glances up at the clock.

5.02 to play. Maybe they can do this.

Maybe they can make it to the end of the game without losing any more players.

All Steve has to do is not let any pucks in. All everybody else has to do is not throw up.

They’ve got this.

 

It’s the most subdued celebration Steve’s ever seen in a game where nobody got hospitalised. The rookies are obviously pleased with themselves, but everybody else knows that they could have done better.

“All right, guys, listen up!” Digger starts his speech before the door’s even closed behind him. “It wasn’t pretty, but we got both points and God knows we’re up against it right now. Training is cancelled tomorrow and Tuesday, I don’t want to see any of you anywhere near here, and if anybody experiences any sickness or diarrhoea on Wednesday or Thursday I do not want you at training on Thursday either. Got it?”

There are various mumbles of  _ yes Coach _ and Digger glances around to make sure everybody’s paying attention.

“Where’s Tim?”

Tommy points towards the toilets.

Digger sighs. “Right, somebody tell him. I’ll text the group chat to make sure the guys who aren’t here all know.”

They have two group chats, one with and one without Digger. Nobody’s sure if he knows about the second one.

“Get dressed, go home. Get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the editing process, a comment appeared on the draft document wondering whether any of the rookies are young enough to still be wearing face cages, as that could make gastroenteritis just that little bit more complicated and unpleasant.  
> This scene takes place in December 2016, and after checking their dates of birth I was able to confirm that both Oscar and Michael were born in 1997 and would have turned 19 some time during 2016, and that Biscuit was born in 1998 and would be 18 during 2016, so I'd be happy to say that his birthday is earlier in the year and that all three of them are wearing half-visors when the Tornadoes get struck down with the stomach flu.


	10. December II (Christmas)

_Elly_

David mostly managed to escape the stomach bug that decimated the team last weekend, and everybody’s back to normal by the last training session before Christmas. Digger kept Thursday’s training on the schedule, since they missed Monday and Tuesday, but anybody who’s heading away for Christmas was planning to set off first thing Friday morning and the session had a bit of a holiday feel to it anyway.

They’ve got an afternoon game on the 26th, so they have to be back in time for that, but with no games this weekend most people were looking forward to spending time with their families.

 

Natalie came down on Thursday night, so they could spend all day Friday together without nosy family members before heading over to Dad and Michelle’s on Christmas Eve.

David actually finished his Christmas shopping over a week ago, but it turns out that Natalie also enjoys wandering around town watching other people panic about last-minute gifts.

 

“What time are you going tomorrow?” Jaakko pokes casually through the tub of Quality Street that’s balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa.

“Fairly early. About half nine, probably? We’re supposed to be there for brunch.”

Michelle invites all the neighbours for Christmas Eve Brunch, and David is expected to attend. David and Natalie.

“Are you staying in tonight?”

“We were planning to…”

“Me too.” Jaakko picks up the Quality Street tub and tilts it so that the sweets move, in case that uncovers what he’s looking for. “But Toffee won’t let me in the kitchen.”

Toffee’s girlfriend is flying in from Denmark. He’s cooking for her and the preparation is apparently very complicated and very stressful.

“We were going to order pizza,” Natalie chips in. “If you want to join us.”

Jaakko smiles. It was pretty obvious he was angling for an invitation.

“Yes, thank you.” He shakes the tub again.

“There’s no coconut ones left,” David tells him. “You’ve eaten them all.”

 

***

Janneke’s flight arrived late, and Toffee went to Gatwick to meet her, so they’re still in bed when David and Natalie are getting ready to leave the next morning.

All of the food that Toffee prepared is apparently for that evening’s dinner, but Jaakko’s wandering around looking bored and David’s a bit worried that he’s going to start eating it before Toffee gets up to supervise.

Dad’s text comes at the perfect time.

**Michelle has made way too much food as usual. Do your housemates want to help us eat it?**

He’s included a picture of the island in the kitchen, which would be groaning with the weight of the food if it wasn’t such a solid piece of furniture that it had taken six guys to carry the granite counter.

 

Turning up when Christmas Eve Brunch is in full swing turns out to be a good thing, as Michelle and Dad are so busy talking to people that they can’t pounce on Natalie the moment they arrive, and there’s only a brief round of _nice to meet you_ before David’s instructed to take their things upstairs, introduce Natalie to some people and then go and help Leon.

“He’s on waffle duty.” David explains, leading the way along the landing. “It was always our job when we were younger and Michelle doesn’t see why we should stop now just because we don’t want to do it and I don’t even live here.”

He pushes open the door to the room that’s sort of his even if this was never technically his home. “This is us.” He drops their bags on the ottoman. “You okay? You’re very quiet.”

“Yeah.” Natalie looks around the room and then finally meets his eyes. “It’s just… you know. Parents.”

The last time David met a girlfriend’s parents was about six years ago.

“I know.” He pulls her in for a hug. “Ready to get back down there and blend into the crowd?”

Natalie smiles. “Lead on.”

 

He takes his time showing her around, not in a rush to join Leon, but eventually they end up back in the kitchen and David pours them both a drink.

“Is…” Natalie takes the glass absent-mindedly, not looking away from where Jaakko’s hassling Leon by the waffle maker. “Is Jaakko flirting with your baby brother?”

David glances over. “Nah. He’s like that with anybody who might feed him.”

“Looks like flirting to me.”

Jaakko says something to Leon, too quiet to hear over the general chatter, and Leon might be blushing. It’s hard to tell - David goes pink really easily but Leon’s skin is much darker, obviously, so his blushes aren’t so noticeable.

“No, that’s just Jaakko.” David goes to interrupt anyway, because he knows how annoying Jaakko is when he’s hungry and he knows how short Leon’s fuse is these days.

“If you feed him he’ll stop.”

“It’s your turn to do this anyway.” Leon lifts the lid on the machine to reveal four perfectly crisp waffles. He lifts the first two onto a plate and passes it to Jaakko, plates the other two for himself and hands the spatula to David. “I’ve been here forever.”

It’s probably not more than 25 minutes, but the first shift is always the worst one.

Leon picks up his plate and turns to Jaakko. “I’ll show you where the toppings are.”

Jaakko can probably find the toppings himself, they’re only a few feet away and Jaakko’s very good at locating food, but he winks at David and trails obediently after Leon.

“I’m sorry about my brother.” David puts the spatula down. “Can I just say that now and you can take it as read for everything else he does over the next few days? We’re not actually related.”

Natalie laughs, and glances over at where Leon and Jaakko are attacking the bowls of cut fruit. They’re probably technically within earshot, but they’re clearly not paying attention. “Does he know he’s still wearing an apron?”

Leon’s apron is green, and printed with little pictures of cats.

“I very much doubt it.”

“Should we tell him?”

“No.” David’s momentarily torn as to whether it would be more embarrassing to point it out to Leon now, in front of Jaakko who he’s apparently decided is somebody worth impressing (David’s a professional hockey player too, his teammates are just as ordinary as he is), or whether it’s funnier to wait until he works it out for himself.

“Are you going to show me if your waffles are as good as Leon’s, then?” Natalie’s manipulating him for food, he can see that, but he’s also not about to let Leon win at anything.

“Absolutely.”

Natalie grins. “Do you have to wear an apron too?”

 

Listen, the batter can go a long way, alright? Sometimes wearing an apron with a giant pug’s face on it is better than the alternative.

 

“We’re so pleased you were able to come for Christmas.” Michelle actually sounds like she genuinely means it.

“Thank you for inviting me.” Natalie’s rinsing the stack of plates by the sink, getting rid of crumbs and smears of sauce before David loads them into the dishwasher. Michelle’s not the sort of person who turns down offers of help from guests.

“Are your family all away this year?” Michelle gathers up a few utensils that can’t go in the dishwasher and adds them to the pile on the side for handwashing later. She’s just making conversation, as David’s already told them where Natalie’s family are. Michelle probably wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t already know, in case it was awkward.

“Mum is, she remarried earlier in the year and they wanted to have Christmas just the two of them this year. My brother invited me to go with his family, but they always go to my sister-in-law’s parents and they’re super religious and it’s not really my thing. They don’t even drink.”

Michelle laughs, and it’s a real one rather than a company laugh. “It doesn’t sound like my kind of thing either.” She looks around at the much tider room. “Shall we have some more buck’s fizz?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Dad ambles in with a full bin bag just in time to catch that last sentence. “Also, your plan to give everybody plastic glasses so we didn’t have to wash them up? Genius.”

“Just these few bits to do.” Michelle waves at the pile by the sink, which is mostly the serving dishes that won’t fit in the dishwasher, and the plates from the waffle machine. “The boys can do those while we go and sit down.”

David recognises the panic that flashes on Natalie’s face before she manages to hide it. “Um…”

“Those bits can wait.” Dad comes to the rescue. “We’re not scheduled to subject Natalie to the Spanish Inquisition until after tea. Or Leon can wash up. Where’s he gone, anyway?”

 

Leon’s extracted from his bedroom and washes up very loudly while Michelle pours everybody else another drink and shepherds them through to the living room.

“I suppose I ought to go next door and get the dog.” Dad doesn’t say it until after he’s sat down, though, so he’s apparently not in any rush.

“We’ll send Leon.” Michelle sets her drink down on a coaster, and explains for Natalie’s benefit. “Humphrey’s getting too old and he doesn’t like big groups of people. Next door look after him when we’re away or if we’re out all day, so he goes there for a few hours when we have a party.”

“The lady next door has a pug as well.” Dad adds. “Humph gets to hang out with Daisy, so he’s cool with it.”

David forgot, when he was telling Natalie how Christmas was likely to go with Dad and Michelle, to warn her that they’re both completely cracked about the dog. They’re both highly educated people with very successful careers, a beautiful house, and two children between them - but it’s as if when they were being very careful to be fair, firm and reasonable with the boys as they tried to blend their families, all of the spoiling and over the top affection went into the dog.

“Leon?” Michelle’s got an uncanny ability to sense teenagers sneaking towards the stairs.

“What.” He appears in the doorway, apparently having used up all of his _being polite to people_ for the day on Brunch.

“Can you go next door and collect Humphrey?”

“Why? I just did the washing up. Can’t David go?”

David breathes in through his nose and reminds himself that he’s twenty eight and he doesn’t need to squabble like a teenager, especially in front of Natalie.

“David’s got a guest.”

David catches Natalie’s eye. “We can go.” Natalie’s got a brother, she’ll understand. Sure enough, she’s already shifting ready to stand up.

“No, tell you what. You boys can both go.” They’re always going to be _you boys,_ despite the 12 year age gap. Michelle’s going to be referring to them as that from her nursing home. “Natalie won’t want to go trekking next door just to get Humphrey.”

“I don’t mind.”

“No, really, though. You stay here and finish your drink. David and Leon will fetch him.”

There’s really no point in arguing with Michelle when she’s made her mind up. The sooner David goes, the sooner he’ll get back.

“We promise not to scare her off.” Dad tells him, because he can’t let Michelle be the most embarrassing parent. David sighs and looks over at Leon.

“Come on then.”

 

Humph is thrilled to see David and Leon, but then he’s also thrilled to see the lady who delivers the post, the cleaner, the gardener, the window cleaner, the bin men and Jehovah’s Witnesses, so neither of them read too much into it.

“Will you boys come in for a mince pie?”

David and Leon exchange slightly panicked glances. Mrs Hewitt is about eighty and loves to chat. If they go into the house it could be hours before they get out again.

“We’d love to, Mrs H, but David’s brought his girlfriend home for Christmas and we have to go and rescue her from Mum and Tristan.”

“Oh, dear, yes!” Mrs H hands over Humph’s lead, which they don’t need to use because there’s no way he’s going to run off when he could be taking himself home for a nap. “Can’t leave them alone for too long!” She flaps her hands at them, as if she’s shooing them away.

“Thanks for looking after Humph, Mrs H!” It never ceases to amaze David that Leon is unfailingly polite and cheerful to Mrs H when he’s such a miserable git the rest of the time.

“Oh, he’s always welcome here. Daisy, are you going to come and say goodbye?”

Daisy’s about as sociable as Leon, so it’s not a surprise when a short pause does not result in Daisy coming to investigate.

“Oh dear. Well, never mind. You boys run along.” Mrs H is used to Daisy’s ways. “And you must bring your young lady round to meet me.”

“Absolutely.” David starts the retreat before she can pin him down to a day and time. “Come on, Humph.”

Humph starts trotting towards the gate, and they follow, pausing at the end of the path to wave to Mrs H because she won’t shut her door until they do.

“Thanks for the assist, there.”

Leon shrugs. “Mum and Tristan can be a bit much.” Coming from Leon, that’s probably as close to overt acceptance of Natalie as he’s likely to get. “Also, I don’t really like mince pies.”

 

Humph is thrilled to meet Natalie.

 

“So, how’s work?”

Dad’s dinner-time small talk needs some finesse.

“Okay? I mean, we’re winning more games, and it looks like that stomach bug was a 48 hour thing because everybody’s feeling better, and-”

“I mean your actual work.” Dad smiles.

“That is his actual work.” Leon chips in. “Hockey’s real work.”

“It’s not like it’s a career, though, is it?” Dad’s being polite in front of Natalie. David would quite like the floor to swallow him now, please.

“I don’t see why not.” Leon stabs his fork into his salad. David’s sure he never managed to make cutlery seem quite so sulky when he was that age.

“Is this about school again?”

“I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“I know you think hockey’s the most important thing right now, but you really do need to do well in your GCSEs so you can get onto the right A level courses and into a decent university.” Michelle sounds like she’s said all this before. Leon certainly looks like he’s heard it all before.

David sacrifices himself to avoid the rehashing of an argument in front of Natalie.

“The office is okay. The people are nice. It’s just a bit boring.” It’s one of Dad’s companies, but his interference ended at getting David the job and he hasn’t been getting any special advantages from being the boss’ son. As far as he can tell, most of his colleagues haven’t made the connection.

“I’m sure if you work hard you’ll get the opportunity to move up. Especially once you start working full time.”

David restrains himself from rolling his eyes. The day he introduces Natalie to his family is not the right time to point out that Dad hasn’t got a clue what it’s like to actually work at the bottom of his businesses. The fact that David’s colleagues haven’t realised that he’s related to the boss says a lot, given that he looks so much like Dad. It just goes to show how few of them have ever even _seen_ Dad.

He’s unlikely to ever get far in the company, even if he does end up doing more than three days a week, just because the opportunities don’t open up and most of the staff leave within two years for exactly that reason. If David gets promoted it’s going to owe as much to somebody in middle management noticing that he’s got the same surname as the boss and putting two and two together as it does to his work ethic and capabilities.

It just seems ungrateful to tell Dad that he hates working there, and that the thought of spending the rest of his life in that company is just depressing.

Michelle clears her throat. “More wine, Natalie?”

“Yes, please.”

 

“Hey.” Michelle catches him in the kitchen, later that evening, when he’s digging through the larder for another bag of kettle chips to replace the ones that Leon’s just inhaled without anybody else getting much of a look in. “If you’re looking for something more interesting…”

For a moment David thinks that she’s hinting that there are other flavours of crisps squirrelled away somewhere, and he’s about to say that he likes the black pepper ones he’s just found when he realises that she’s holding out a business card.

“If you don’t mind giving up one of your days off each week, they’re looking for volunteers in the Maidstone office. It’s not paid, obviously, but it might be more interesting and you could always apply for a paid job if you find you like it. Bridget’s the Volunteer Coordinator.”

David takes the card. “Thanks.” He doesn’t know a lot about what Michelle actually does, apart from that it’s to do with refugees, but it might be worth looking into after Christmas. Anything’s better than moving paper for Dad for the next thirty years.


	11. January

_Andrew_

Friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky. 

 

Unlucky, maybe, because they’ve got a game tonight, the first of three nights straight, and three game weekends are always tough.

Unlucky for Kyle, who got a flat tyre this afternoon and turned up just in time for warm-up with grease all over his sleeves.

Unlucky for Chris Baxter, who tries to push Paul over when they’re battling against the boards during the second period, and somehow gets tangled up in his own stick instead and has to be helped off the ice, reappearing behind the bench for the third with his ankle strapped up.

Unlucky for Andrew, who loses his shutout with just four minutes still to play.

Unlucky for the Saxons, who limp back onto their bus (literally, in Baxter’s case) with a 3-1 loss to take home.

 

***

“Can we get pizza for dinner?”

Andrew flicks his indicator on and moves into the left hand lane. “Probably not.”

Mollie sighs, long-suffering. “Worth a try.”

She’s picked that up from somewhere recently. Andrew suppresses a smile.

“I just thought that, since we’re going to be late getting home, you might not want to cook…”

“We’re not going to be that late.” Andrew takes the turning for the ice rink car park. “I just need to pick something up. Ten minutes.”

“I’m tired and  _ hungry.” _ He doesn’t need to look behind him to know that she’s got her arms folded across her chest.

“There’s a vegetarian moussaka in the freezer, that’ll be quick to cook when we get in if you can’t wait.”

It’s one of Mollie’s least favourite dinners, and she shuts up abruptly. Andrew awards himself a Dad Point and finds a parking space near the doors.

“Come on then.”

 

“Are your team here?” Mollie bounces along beside him, distracted from her imminent death from starvation by the sounds of pucks and sticks on the ice.

“Nope. I think it’s under 18s at the moment.”

Mollie wrinkles her nose and Andrew grins to himself. Hopefully they’ve got a couple more years before she starts getting interested in spotty teenage boys.

 

Andrew’s got what he came for well within the prescribed ten minutes, and they’re just leaving the rink when the noises from the ice change. Andrew hadn’t been paying much attention to what was going on, apart from the part of his brain that automatically tracks any hockey play that might be going on around him, but the yelling has changed from hockey calls to actual pain.

He runs back towards the ice without pausing to think. As he gets there, Marcus is already disappearing into the tunnel with one of the kids, and Andrew catches him calling  _ you’re in charge _ without hearing which of the kids he’s delegated to. Probably the captain, whichever one that is. None of the training jerseys have letters on.

The kids are clearly unsettled by whatever’s just happened, and they’re dealing with it by shouting at each other.

“You fucking idiot!”

“I never touched him!”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“Shut up, guys.”

“You’re fucking dangerous, you are.”

At 15 to 18, and in full gear, most of them are big lads. They’re also generally not mature enough to know when to keep a lid on it, and nobody’s taking any notice of the guy who’s trying to calm them down. They’re getting worked up and somebody could get hurt. Somebody else, rather, as that seems to be what’s started this.

“Hey.”

Nobody’s taking any notice of Andrew, either, but Mollie found his whistle from football practice in the car and she’s still got it hanging round her neck.

“Molls?” He gestures to the whistle and she gets what he wants immediately. The resulting blast is both longer and louder than really necessary, but it gets a result.

“All right!” Andrew calls into the resulting surprised silence. “Everybody off the ice. And watch your language.”

 

Almost all of the kids are on the benches before one of them says “who the hell are you anyway?”

The kid sitting next to him elbows him in the side. “Don’t swear.” He jerks his head towards Mollie.

“Forsythe, from the Tornadoes.” One of the goalies speaks up at the same time, and various of them squint at Andrew as if they’re trying to picture him in a jersey, pads and mask to make the connection.

The goalie pushes his own mask up, and Andrew recognises him.

“You’re Elly’s brother, right? Leon?”

Leon nods. He’d been at the game on Boxing Day and Elly had introduced him to Andrew and Woody.

“Okay, who did Marcus leave in charge?” One of the kids raises his hand. “What’s going on?”

“Tyler’s injured.” He barely has a chance to get started before the rest of them are talking over him.

“Will checked him into the net.”

“He’s broken his arm.”

“He’s dislocated his shoulder”

“There’s blood everywhere.”

“Shut up, Carl.”

“You shut up!”

Andrew looks at the kid Marcus left in charge, to see if he’s going to get his team under control. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Mollie slowly lifting the whistle, utterly fascinated by the argument breaking out in front of her.

“That’s enough.” He doesn’t need to raise his voice too much to get them to shut up this time. “What’s your name?”

“James.” Andrew makes a rapid mental note of the names so far. James, left in charge. Will, the tall skinny one who apparently caused the injury. Carl, the one in the middle who’s apparently exaggerating about the blood. Leon, the goalie, sitting back and watching.

“Okay, James, what happened? Not a word out of anybody else.”

“Tyler’s injured.” James repeats. “He crashed into the net,”  _ possibly pushed by Will, _ his sideways glance says, “and did something to his shoulder. His arm was hanging funny and he was screaming, so-” 

James looks pale, like just thinking about it is making him feel sick. You see a lot of injuries in this sport, sprains and breaks, but you never really get used to hearing your teammates in real pain. It’s different when it’s right in front of you.

“So Marcus has taken him through to the locker room?” Possibly not what Andrew would have done, but maybe he needed to get him away from the other boys. “No other adults here?”

“I’m 18.” James points out.

“Me too.” The kid who told his friend off for swearing in front of Mollie puts his hand up, and a couple of other hands go up too.

Andrew doesn’t roll his eyes. “No other coaches, anybody supervising?”

“Loz is off sick, so we’re short, but Don’s out the back somewhere.” Leon offers. “He’s probably helping Marcus, though.”

“Right.” Andrew stops to think for a second. “What time are you due to finish tonight?”

“Half six.”

Andrew glances at his watch. It’s nearly six now. “Okay. Who’s the Captain?” Everybody looks at James, confirming Andrew’s earlier guess. “And the As?”

Will-who-may-or-may-not-have-injured-Tyler is one of the two who raises his hand. Andrew turns to the other guy, who looks a lot like Jasper but with acne. “I’m guessing you’re a Whittaker.”

Whittaker nods.

“Head back to find Marcus, let him know that I’m here, and ask him, does he want us to stop or carry on, and does he need any help?” He waits for Whittaker to head for the tunnel before he continues. “Volunteers to get the pucks and kit off the ice?”

They all get up, clearly understanding what Andrew means by  _ volunteers, _ and Andrew catches Will before he gets far. “Hang on here a sec.” He waits until the rest of the guys are on the ice and Mollie’s drifted over to the boards to supervise before he asks. “What happened?”

Will’s obviously relieved to have the opportunity to explain to somebody in authority, even if Andrew has assumed that authority without official permission.

“It was an accident. He was right on top of Leon, and I was trying to get him out of the crease, but he got his skate caught on the post and he twisted weird and fell…” He’s reliving the moment, which clearly wasn’t pleasant. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, it’s just training, we’re friends…”

“Okay. Accidents happen. It’s not nice when they do, but if it’s really an accident then people will understand that.”

“Everybody’s going on like I did it on purpose.” Will’s dropped his voice, looking at the floor.

“Everybody’s in shock. It’ll calm down.” Andrew’s keeping an eye on the ice, where the guys are taking longer than they should do to bring in the pucks. There’s a bit too much keep-away going on to be helpful, and several sneaky shots at the net.

“Molls, you want to bring them in?”

Mollie looks up when he calls out to her, and grins.

“Back her up?” The request to Will is quieter. It’s unlikely that the boys will ignore Mollie with her dad right there, but nobody really has much authority until Marcus reappears. Will nods, and ambles over to where Mollie’s got the whistle in her mouth.

“Thirty seconds!” She shouts when they all look over at her. There’s a pause. “Twenty nine, twenty eight…”

Everybody scrambles into action.

 

“Um.” Whittaker seems to have the family sense of self-confidence, but he’s still not sure how best to attract Andrew’s attention. “Marcus said - he’s called Tyler’s mum, but he probably just needs to get checked over. And you can stop the practice if you want to, but also if you don’t mind you could keep going for a bit. Don’s coming out to help.”

Andrew’s met Don a couple of times. He normally works with the younger kids, and Andrew can’t imagine him being great at controlling unruly teenagers. Still, at least he’s officially part of the Tornadoes Junior system. Andrew’s got all his paperwork for working with kids from coaching at football, and he’s more than capable of running some hockey drills, but Don’s technically responsible for these boys and Andrew just happened to be passing. 

It says a lot, though, that Marcus is just assuming Andrew will be in charge rather than Don.

Still, Andrew doesn’t mind helping out.

“Okay then!” He turns to where the guys have now gathered by the boards, apparently wary of Mollie and the power of her whistle. “You now get twenty minutes of what happens when they let a goalie pick the drills. Leon.” He waves for Leon to come over to one side. “And…” He turns to the other goalie.

“Harry.” He joins Leon.

“So, what we’re going to do, is-”

 

They’re late home.

Andrew orders pizza.

 

#### 

 

***

It’s getting easier to watch from the bench.

Easier, never easy, but Digger keeps swapping them over, giving them both starts, and now that this really feels like a tandem Andrew can watch Woody in net without that gnawing feeling that he’s watching his career trickle through his fingers.

Digger’s always looking for the best fit for each game, and that’s okay when Andrew can figure out that there’s a reason why Woody might get the nod one night and Andrew the next. Last time they played the Saxons, Andrew had the net at home and the Tornadoes got the win. Maybe they do know Woody better, and know his weaknesses, but tonight they’re on Saxons’ ice and Woody’s in the net because he  _ knows  _ this rink, he knows the bounces, he knows the tricks that the home team have up their sleeves.

The crowd like him too, he’s a home-town guy and they cheer when he’s announced.

 

The man of the match usually gets picked by the sponsors, at this level, and they don’t always know that much about hockey. It’s not unusual for the beers to go to somebody who’s popular rather than a guy who’s genuinely had a good game, and when you’re on the away team and the sponsors don’t really know you, the beers often go to the goalie or the goal scorers.

It doesn’t really matter whether Woody got picked because they know him from when he played here, or because he was in net for the winning team, because in Andrew’s opinion he did have a really good game.

Several of the Saxons brought their kids onto the ice as soon as the handshakes were done, and Danielle brought Phoebe down to the benches so that Woody could take her for a lap. He’s so focused on talking to the baby that he doesn’t hear when they call his name for man of the match, and Andrew has to nudge him.

“Woody.”

“What?”

“It’s you.” Andrew nods towards where the red carpet’s been rolled onto the ice.

“Oh! Really?” Woody takes two strides towards the carpet and then pauses. “Can you…” He holds Phoebe out, and Andrew takes her automatically.

The team follow Woody to the carpet, hanging back long enough to let him pose for the photograph before they swarm him with their own congratulations. Andrew keeps Phoebe well out of the way.

“Have to let the guys beat Daddy up a little bit.” He explains. Phoebe clenches her fist in his jersey and looks around, apparently not concerned about being handed over to Andrew. Andrew laughs. “Is it a good view? You don’t normally get to be so high up, huh?”

He might refrain from chirping Woody about his height to his face, but Phoebe’s not going to tell on him.

The guys break away from the carpet to skate their lap to thank the fans who followed them up for the game, and Andrew joins the back of the pack. Woody falls in next to him, but once he’s checked that Phoebe’s secure he doesn’t take her back, taking the chance to wave back to the home fans who are cheering for him. This isn’t Andrew’s town and this wasn’t Andrew’s game, so he’s quite happy to keep the baby safe and let Woody have his moment. 

Their own fans have a big cheer for Woody, and he takes more time to salute them. The home fans might be welcoming him back, but the Tornadoes are his team now and Woody’s not going to forget that.

 

There’s a bit of a crowd at the gate as the guys have to wait their turn to leave the ice, and Andrew waits for Woody to catch up. The Saxons have announced the winner of the shirt raffle, and Ambrose is skating up to collect the man of the match beers for the home team. As the Saxons wait for the photos to be done so they can skate their own lap, Winthrop drifts over to Andrew. They’d chatted a bit on the benches, but Andrew doesn’t really know him.

“Hey, Feeb.” Winthrop’s mostly come to talk to Phoebe. Andrew forgets, sometimes, that these guys were Woody’s friends as well as his teammates, and that Winthrop had been Woody’s rookie. Winthrop angles himself so that Phoebe can see him. “Do you remember me?”

He reaches out as if he’s going to touch her, and Phoebe leans away from him. She can’t go far, secure in Andrew’s hold, but the message is clear.

Winthrop lowers his hands immediately, but looks genuinely hurt for a moment.

“Are you harassing my daughter?” Woody’s clearly joking as he glides to a stop next to them, although he drops it the moment he sees Winthrop’s face.

“I see I’ve been replaced.” Winthrop forces a smile, and everything feels a little bit awkward. Phoebe reaches for Woody, and Andrew hands her over.

“Still no substitute for the real thing,” he smoothes. “Only one Daddy. Other goalies will only do in a pinch.”

“It’s just Pete, Feeb.” Woody holds her with her back against his chest so that she can see Winthrop. “You know Pete.”

She still doesn’t look sure, but Winthrop’s pulling faces at her and she’s about to break out her killer smile when the Saxons finally start their lap. Aarden smacks the back of his stick against Winthrop’s legs as he passes, and Winthrop winces.

“Better go. I’ll be in trouble for fraternising.” He sounds like he’s joking, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Bye, Feeb.”

Woody waves for her as Winthrop skates backwards for a couple of paces and then turns to trail his team.

 

“Is…” It’s not an easy subject to bring up, when Andrew doesn’t really know the guy, but something about Winthrop’s reactions at the end of the game struck a chord. “Is Winthrop okay?”

They’re in the locker room, getting dressed after the showers. Woody pauses in toweling his hair and looks at Andrew.

“How do you mean?” He doesn’t sound confused, like he hadn’t noticed anything, more like he’s trying to figure out why Andrew’s asking.

“He… just didn’t seem to be himself? I mean, I know I don’t know him very well, but…” Andrew shrugs. “I guess it’s none of my business, but. I know it can be tough when you get a new starter brought in to replace somebody you were close to.”

Woody drops the towel onto the kit piled in his stall, and pulls on his t-shirt. “I’ll see if he wants to talk to me.” He’s closing the conversation, but his tone suggests that he’d also noticed something off. Running his fingers through his hair to settle it back into place, he glances over at Andrew. “Thanks.”


	12. February I

_Leon_

Mum’s on one again, banging on about his grades and his A level choices and what he’s going to do with his life because _you can’t pin it all on hockey Leon there’s just no money in it in this country you need real options_ , so when Tristan says he’s going to watch David’s game tonight and does Leon want to come, he jumps at the chance.

Tristan’s okay, really. He’s been married to Mum for ten years now and he’s basically Leon’s dad. He’s done all the dad-stuff for pretty much as long as Leon can remember, anyway. He doesn’t push it, though, he expects Leon to behave with respect and he treats him fairly. Like, a lot of the guys at school complain about their dads and Leon doesn’t think Tristan’s that bad in comparison to how strict some people seem to be.

They both work long hours, Mum and Tristan, and so Leon’s pretty used to looking after himself. They had a sensible conversation about it, when Zofia handed her notice in over the summer, about whether he felt comfortable being in on his own a lot and getting himself to training after school if they didn’t get another au pair. It felt like a big deal, that they really wanted his opinion and to talk through the pros and cons like he was an adult, big enough to decide if he could look after himself. Old enough to discuss real solutions to how he could get a full bag of goalie kit to and from training, and to really consider options that might not be cool in the eyes of the guys at school but that could be the best way to make things work.

They settled on an agreement that when Zofia left they wouldn’t replace her, and Leon would either cycle or walk to school. On hockey days he’d have to cycle so he could get home in time to get a taxi to the rink with his gear, and a taxi home again at the end on Tristan’s account, and if the guys took the piss about him taking taxis instead of having his parents collect him, he was okay with ignoring it.

Most weeks one of them managed to pick him up, anyway, and then David gave him a lift that time, and then the weekend after that David turned up at their home game, since the Tornadoes weren’t playing, and gave him a key. Now Leon keeps most of his gear in the Tornadoes kit store, stacked up on shelves next to Forsythe’s and Woods’ gear, and he can cycle home from training with his base layers in his backpack.

So, like, Tristan’s okay because he does the dad-stuff but doesn’t try to pretend that he _is_ Leon’s dad, because he’s not. And David’s okay too, kind of, because although the guy Leon idolised when he was a kid has turned out to be a total dork on closer inspection, and he can be kind of embarrassing, he still looks out for Leon when it matters.

And his girlfriend seems cool, so. Whatever.

Anyway, Leon _has_ done his homework, _yes Mum,_ and spending the evening at a hockey game seems like a much better bet than dodging yet another conversation about what he’s planning to do with the rest of his life.

 

Tristan hasn’t got an _Ellison_ jersey from the Tornadoes yet. He’s got one from the team that David played for last year, but it’s February and so far as Leon knows he hasn’t even ordered one yet. He’s not sure what David thinks about it, but Leon reckons that personally he might be a bit hurt if he played for a team that sold real replica jerseys and Mum didn’t get one.

Leon doesn’t have a jersey either, but then he’s actually a hockey player himself, so. And it’s not like he’s going to wear his own jersey to a game, sad, so he does what any of his teammates would do and wears his Twisters jacket, which has their logo and his initials and number embroidered on the breast.

Tristan got standing tickets, because he knows that that’s what Leon likes best, and Leon picks a spot at the end where the visitors will defend twice. He doesn’t get that many chances to go to Tornadoes games, but he can see Forsythe or Woods play any time he does, so he wants to watch Ryan Lloyd more than the home goalies.

The Scorpions are playing really well this season, they’re second in the league and they’re in the semi-finals for the Cup. The Tornadoes have been struggling, although they’re finally turning it round.

It’s weird, because they’re usually a consistently good team, and the fans don’t know what to do with a team that doesn’t just win everything. The stands are a little bit emptier than normal, which is kind of sad. Then again, the Twisters would kill for a crowd like this, so, whatever.

 

The game looks a lot more evenly matched than you’d think for a 2nd/6th place contest. The play’s end to end, and Lloyd has to pull off some beauty moves to keep the score down to 0-1 at the end of the first. It’s always confusing, watching the goalie of the team he’s not rooting for, because he wants every goalie to make the save, but he also wants the Tornadoes to score.

Anyway, 0-1 at the end of the first, and Tristan leaves him guarding their spot against the glass while he goes to the toilet.

“Hi, Steyner. Thought it was you.”

Leon’s stomach does that stupid thing where it twists up and his mouth goes a bit dry.

“Hey, Whitts.” He looks up from his phone to see if there’s anybody else here with him. Whitts is older than Leon, they don’t go to the same school, it would be fine if he was here with some friends or even some of the other older guys from the team that would be fine if they’d decided to go to the game and not invite Leon he’s cool with it he doesn’t care.

“Supporting your brother?” Whitts seems to be on his own.

Leon shrugs, which only kind of works because he’s still leaning super casually against the glass. “Yeah.”

“My sister dragged me down.” Whitts slides into a spot next to Leon, his back against the glass. “I mean, not that I don’t want to come, but she’s a season ticket holder and her friend’s ill, so she made me come with her. And all the people around her are…” He waves a hand. “Ugh.”

Leon knows what he means. So many people have really loud opinions and no fucking idea what they’re talking about.

“Mum’s doing my nut.” He offers. “Any excuse to get out of the house.”

Whitts offers him a fist-bump, so maybe that wasn’t quite as lame as it sounded when Leon reviewed it the second it left his mouth. He knocks his knuckles against Whitts’ and his chest does that stupid thing again.

“What do you reckon?” Whitts nods towards the glass.

“Game’s still open.” Leon checks that his phone’s locked and slips it into his pocket. “Tornadoes are getting some good chances, they just need to keep the pressure up.”

“That one that got in was lucky.” Whitts tips his head back a bit further so it’s resting against the glass, and Leon doesn’t look at his throat. “Forsythe’ll want that one back.” There’s a pause. “Hey, what did you think of him at training the other week?”

“Knows his stuff.” Leon had quite liked him, actually, during the half hour they had left after the drama about Tyler’s shoulder.

“Better than Don.” Whitts grins, and Leon smiles back. Don’s a nice guy but he can’t control the older teams. Forsythe had just come in with an attitude that said it had never occurred to him that they wouldn’t do what he wanted, and it was easy to respond to that.

Also, his kid was really loud with that whistle.

“How long have we- oh, hi there.” Tristan appears from the crowd. Whitts lifts a hand in greeting which is simultaneously a bit douchey and kind of cool.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, I know you’re one of Leon’s teammates, but you’re normally labelled.” Whitts’ jacket has his initials and number on it, like Leon’s does, but that’s no use if you don’t know their names to start with.

Whitts grins. “Braden Whittaker.”

“Tristan Ellison, nice to meet you.”

Honestly. Tristan’s such a _dad,_ sometimes. Leon actually thought he was going to try to shake hands for a second there.

“Are you sticking around, or have you got to get back to a seat?”

Whitts glances at Leon, as if he’s not sure how to interpret Tristan’s question.

“Um. Am I in somebody’s spot, here?”

“There’s room, if your sister isn’t waiting for you.” Leon’s still leaving it open so Whitts doesn’t feel like he _has_ to stay, but he wants him to know that Tristan’s question was real and not a hint for Whitts to leave.

“Looks like a good view from here.” Whitts allows, and Tristan smiles.

“Okay then, I was going to get a coffee, so do either of you boys want anything?”

Leon wants a hot chocolate, with all the trimmings (he burns a lot of calories, it’s fine) but maybe Whitts is the kind of guy who only drinks black coffee and Leon would look like a kid if he wanted marshmallows.

“I wouldn’t mind a hot chocolate.” Whitts admits, reaching for his pocket.

“Sure. No, don’t worry about it.” Tristan waves him off before he can try to hand over any money. “Leon, the same?”

“Please.”

There is just the faintest chance that Leon’s family won’t embarrass him totally in front of Whitts tonight.

 

When the teams skate out for the second the Tornadoes have the net near where they’re standing, and Leon realises that David’s going to be embarrassing as soon as he spots him because that’s just what he _does._ It’s not even on purpose, he’s just a dork.

It’s not David who comes over and crashes into the glass in front of them, though, because Jasper Whittaker sees them first and comes over to demand that Whitts gives him a fist-bump through the glass.

He makes Leon do it too.

“Oh, god.” Whitts mutters, as soon as Whittaker skates away. “He’s such a nerd.”

 

Forsythe’s playing really well, and the defense are so much better than they were at the start of the season. It helps that Mike Housemann’s back from injury, and they’ve got five D as well as the rookie who almost never leaves the bench (no use lying, any of the guys on the Twisters would love to be in Taylor Biscombe’s position) but they’re also just _better._

Artie Chan gets a breakaway for the Scorpions, and that guy is dangerously fast but somehow David manages to get back and not only push him off course but also steal the puck and turn it round. Leon finds himself banging on the glass with the people next to him.

“Nice one.” Whitts shares his appreciation with a couple of kicks that make the boards echo. “I thought we’d got no chance there.”

 

They’re cheering again a few minutes later, when Toffee gets them an equalising goal.

 

From a purely technical point of view, the Scorpions’ second goal is beautiful to watch. Dominick Štěpán weaves past Jack Andrews and Jaakko Korhonen as if they’re just training cones, dekes to his left in a move that has Leon moving right to follow it like a backseat goalie, and twists the shot so it lifts over Forsythe’s left shoulder.

Leon’s feeling the echo of Forsythe’s frustration in his own stomach. He would have fallen for it in exactly the same way, but of course that’s a goal against Forsythe’s stats and Leon’s just watching.

Whitts nudges him. “Were you trying to catch that?”

Leon glances at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out if he’s laughing at him or just chirping a bit.

Just chirping, probably.

“Can’t help it.”

Whitts nudges him again and grins. “Beauty goal, though.”

 

Whitts’ phone rings as soon as the second intermission starts. He sighs as he answers. “What?”

Must be his sister, then.

“I sent you a text. Yeah. No. I dunno.” The pauses are much longer than his answers, but that’s sisters for you, apparently. “By the goal. Mm. Yes. One of my teammates. Yes! I told you. No.” He rolls his eyes at Leon and Leon finds himself grinning back at him. “Leon. No, he’s one of the goalies. Um.” His eyes cut sideways to Leon, suddenly awkward, as if he’s hoping that Leon can’t hear what his sister is saying.

He can’t, of course, it’s way too noisy in here, but it’s not exactly hard to figure out that she’s just said something like _the coloured kid?_

It doesn’t really bother Leon that much, that it’s how he gets described. He’s the only guy on the team who’s not white, it’s just the easiest way to make it obvious that they mean him. It’s like when somebody calls Will _the tall one_ or Tyler _the one with the hair._ It’s just that nobody’s going to call somebody racist for saying _tall._

It bothers him when people make it a negative, obviously, if they say it like he shouldn’t play hockey or like the colour of his skin changes what kind of person he is, but if it’s just as a way of picking him out in a crowd, it’s whatever. Sometimes it’s more annoying that people make such a big deal out of not saying it, when that just draws more attention to it. It seems dumb to spend ages trying to find other ways to describe him when there’s a quick answer.

He’s not stupid, he knows that growing up in an area like this means he’s not going to get the kind of trouble he’d get in other places. Mum moved them here for a reason, after all, and people being over-cautious is a lot better than the alternative.

He gets his phone out to make it obvious that he’s not listening to Whitts’ conversation, and wonders vaguely where Tristan’s got to. He’d brought the drinks over just after the second period started, and he’d been right there during the game, but now he’s… not.

 **Where are you?** He types and then deletes. He’s sixteen, he’s fine on his own.

Except he was so busy talking to Whitts and watching the game that he actually doesn’t know when Tristan moved away from them.

**Where are y-**

“You guys alright for drinks?” Leon jumps as Tristan’s suddenly standing next to him. “Sorry about that, work called.” He holds up his phone as if that’s proof, and Leon deletes the text he was writing. Tristan grins. “Did you even notice I was gone?”

Leon shrugs. “No.”

Tristan raises his eyebrows as if he knows perfectly well that Leon was about to text him, but he won’t call him on it in front of Whitts. “I’m going to get some chips. Do you want some, or do wannabe professional athletes not eat deep fried food?”

“I thought you were on a diet?” Leon folds his arms, knowing how much it makes him look like Mum, and Tristan snorts.

“What your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt me.” He winks, just to undo any kind of credibility he might have accidentally accumulated, does some sort of dumb pointing thing which Leon interprets as meaning he’s going to buy chips for all of them, and goes to queue for food.

“I’ll meet you at the end.” Whitts is trying to get his sister off the phone. “I don’t know, by the skate hire? Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.” He hangs up and rolls his eyes at Leon. “You are so lucky not having sisters. Hey, where did your dad go?”

Leon doesn’t bother to say _he’s not my dad._ He might as well be.

“Gone to get chips.”

“Sweet.”

 

“Excuse me, do you know the Piranhas’ score?” The couple who were standing on the other side of Whitts haven’t come back after the intermission, and the guy who’s standing on the other side of the gap has just leaned over to ask.

“Um, no, but…” Whitts gets his phone out. “Hang on.” His fingers fly over the screen, pulling up Twitter and scrolling for the right feeds. “Saxons are three two up, eight minutes to go.”

“Thanks.” The guy nods and turns back to the game, where an icing call has just been untangled and the puck’s about to drop.

“Think they can hold it?” Leon keeps his eyes on the game in front of them even though he’s talking about the Saxons.

“Dunno.” He can see Whitts shrug out of the corner of his eye.”Neither team’s playing that well, are they?”

The Piranhas are currently ninth in the league, the first place outside the playoff qualifiers. They’re getting close to the point where even if the Piranhas hit a perfect hot streak that lasts the rest of the season, they wouldn’t be able to catch the Tornadoes and they’d be locked in for playoffs. A Saxons win tonight might make that possible.

 

The Tornadoes are keeping the pressure up, but the Scorpions defense is really on it tonight.

Toffee gets another breakaway that has everybody on the edge of their seats, but Marek Buchta is there in time to deflect the shot.

Lloyd gets a glove to David’s blue-line shot, freezing the puck. He skates a loop while they set up the faceoff, shaking his wrist, and Leon winces in sympathy. He and David don’t skate together very often, but occasionally over the summer they’ll share some ice time and Leon’s faced that shot now that he’s big enough for David not to go easy on him. The first time he caught one he thought it had burnt right through his glove. David doesn’t shoot often, but he shoots _hard._

There are seven minutes on the clock and the score’s still at 1-2 when the news comes through that the Saxons have beaten the Piranhas in regulation.

“What do we need?” Whitts is reading the twitter scores over Leon’s shoulder. “Do we have to win to lock it in?”

The way the season’s going it’s unlikely that the Tornadoes won’t get a playoff spot, but it still feels better to have it locked down. Leon pulls up the league table and tries to work it out in his head based on games left to play and maximum possible points.

“I think… I think we‘re in.” He turns to Tristan and shows him the table. “If the Piranhas have nine more games to go, and they win them all, that’s 18 more points so the most they can get is 42, right? So if the Tornadoes don’t win any more games and their points stay where they are they’ve already got 44, so… the Piranhas can’t catch them… right?”

Tristan looks at the screen and frowns as he runs through Leon’s logic. Sometimes it’s useful having smart people around.

“That’s right.”

“Awesome.” Whitts elbows Leon. “Playoffs!”


	13. February II

_Andrew_

They don’t have any after school clubs today, and it’s not raining, so Andrew walks down to the school to collect Mollie.

The usual suspects are gathered by the gates, waiting for their children to emerge. Parents of children in Years R, 1 and 2 have to go in to collect them, but once you get to Year 3 they’re able to come out to the gates themselves.

Mollie’s in Year 3, so Andrew gets to sit on the wall and wait.

“How was half-term?” Ben leans against the wall next to him, car keys dangling from one finger. He’d latched onto Andrew at the start of the school year - they’re vastly outnumbered by the mothers and Ben believes in safety in numbers.

Then again, Ben’s known to be single which apparently makes him something of a target to the school gate mums. Andrew’s got his wedding ring as defense.

“Fine.” Andrew smiles. “No major dramas, but we had football camp to keep us occupied.”

“Football.” Ben sighs, sounding wistful. “I’d love to do something that doesn’t involve glitter.”

Andrew laughs. “How was Wales?”

“Rained all week.” Ben grimaces. “Stuck in a remote cottage with the girls and my parents, it was hard work. I never want to see another craft project in my life.”

Andrew doesn’t tell him there’s a streak of glitter on the sleeve of his coat.

“And then they went to their mum’s on Friday night and she took them to school this morning, so I haven’t seen them all weekend and I almost miss the noise…”

 

They’re interrupted by the arrival at the gates of Mrs Smith and the Year 3-6 students. Mrs Smith somehow manages to keep track of 60 children and make sure that each of them is reunited with the correct adult. Andrew’s always been impressed.

“Daddy!” Ben’s younger daughter throws herself at his knees.

“Hi, Kaila!” Ben gives her a hug and somehow ends up with her book bag and lunch box. Kaila’s in the same class as Mollie, but the age gap between September-birthday Mollie and June-birthday Kaila is noticeable.

It’s a shame, because Andrew quite likes Ben, but Mollie and Kaila do  _ not _ get along.

If Kaila’s here then Mollie should be out as well, but… Andrew looks at the crowd of identically dressed kids, glad that his height gives him an advantage. As expected, Mollie’s standing just inside the gate, talking to her friends. As the crowd thins, Mrs Smith interrupts them and redirects the group towards their families.

“Hi Dad.” Mollie strolls over, her casual attitude a deliberate attempt to be more grown up than Kaila.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah.” Mollie casts a not-particularly-subtle look at Ben and Kaila and makes an obvious decision to hold onto her own book bag and and lunch box.

“Any homework?”

“Just sums.” Mollie flicks her plait over her shoulder. “So it’s easy.”

Something in her sideways glance suggests that Kaila might not find maths that easy, and that Mollie’s making a point of this. Andrew frowns. Ben hasn’t noticed, attention drawn to the gates.

“Olivia! Come on!”

Kaila’s older sister detaches herself from her friends with the longer-suffering air of somebody who’s going to be twelve next birthday and marches over.

“Got everything?” Ben asks. “Bag? Lunch box? PE kit?”

“Yes.” Olivia pulls her backpack further onto her shoulder. 

“Good. Great. Okay then, let’s go.” Ben turns his daughters towards the car. “See you tomorrow, Andrew. Bye Mollie.”

Mollie says goodbye politely, and Kaila glares at her.

 

“How much maths homework have you got?” Andrew has to shorten his stride on the way home so that Mollie can keep up.

“Two pages.” Mollie’s going to try to pass him her bag any minute now.

“And that’s all?”

“I’ve got some spellings as well.” Mollie admits.

“But you only mentioned the maths before? Is that because Kaila’s not very good at maths?”

Mollie is genuinely surprised that he’s figured this out.

“Um…”

“You know, it’s not very nice to make somebody feel bad about things they’re not very good at.” 

“But she’s  _ not _ very good at sums!”

“But did you tell me that it was easy homework because it is, or because you want Kaila to feel bad that she finds the sums harder than you do?”

Mollie’s response is a nondescript mumble which means she’s got his point.

“And that’s not really fair, is it?”

“But she’s so  _ annoying _ !” Mollie bursts out. “She’s such a  _ baby _ about everything.”

Kaila is a lot less mature than Mollie, even given the age difference, but there are some good reasons for that. Andrew needs to talk to Mollie about this - once he’s figured out how.

 

Mollie does her homework at the kitchen table, like normal. Andrew peels potatoes and tests her on her spelling list, which she gets right first time.

The potatoes go into a pan of water, ready to cook when Sara gets home, and Mollie moves on to her maths workbook which is apparently not quite as easy as she’d claimed.

“I thought these were going to be easy?” Andrew teases, pulling out a chair so he can sit next to her.

Mollie huffs. “They’re just, like, normal. Not hard hard.”

“Okay, then, tell me what you need to do.”

They’re doing word problems at the moment, so Mollie patiently talks him through how to work out what the sums are.

“So it says they give away six apples, so that means take-away six from the first number.” She pencils it in. “You do that sum first.” The answer goes onto the page, right first time without even talking about it. “And then they get ten more apples, so you have to add that.”

At the moment, school is still interesting enough to keep her attention, but Andrew and Sara are already talking about finding the right secondary school to make sure she’s pushed enough to stop her getting bored

 

“Why did you say that Kaila’s a baby?” Andrew waits until the last maths problem is completed.

Mollie shrugs. “She just is.”

Given a long enough pause, she’ll usually elaborate.

“She cries a lot, and she never wants to do anything on her own. And she talks when it’s quiet reading, and she stole Isaac’s biscuit from his lunch.”

“Why did she do that?” 

“Because she didn’t have one in her lunch and she wanted one.” Mollie’s disdain is obvious.

Andrew’s not sure where to start with this. “You know how Kaila’s mum and dad don’t live together?”

“Mmm.”

“Well, maybe it’s hard for Kaila because she misses having her mum at home.”

“She’s still a baby, though.”

He’s probably not going to get through this on the first attempt.

“What happened when she stole Isaac’s food?”

“Mrs Henshaw told her off. And then she cried.”

Andrew’s just going to go ahead and assume it was Kaila who cried and not the teacher.

“Do you remember when we told you that we were going to move here?”

Mollie nods.

“And the next day you shouted at Bella when we went swimming? And she cried?” That’s the abridged version. The full version was a lot more dramatic. Mollie nods again, slower. “And you told me afterwards that you weren’t actually cross with Bella, you were cross with me and Mummy for moving?”

“And it wasn’t really Bella’s fault…” Mollie obviously does remember that afternoon.

“Well, sometimes people do things because they’re upset about something else. And like Bella didn’t know you were upset about moving house, maybe Kaila’s upset about things that you don’t know about.”

It looks like the penny’s dropping, so Andrew decides not to labour the point and goes for a change of subject.

“Hey, you know we ran that training session for the Twisters last month?” 

Mollie brightens up. “Yes!” Blowing the whistle totally made her a co-coach, as far as she’s concerned.

“Well, they’ve asked me if I would do some more sessions. Every week for the rest of the season.”

“Every week?”

“Yeah. It’s Wednesdays, so it doesn’t clash with football or swimming. But, as it’s right after school, you’d have to come with me.”

“Yeah.” Mollie frowns, like she can’t see how he could coach without her help anyway, and Andrew grins.

“You up for that? Coaching hockey between school and tea time on Wednesdays?”

Mollie smiles back, no pretending to be casual. “Okay!”

 

#### 

 

***

_Woody_

The game schedule’s been pretty good the last few weeks, all their away games have been against teams that are close enough that when the Tornadoes bus gets back to the rink, it’s not too late for Steve to drive home.

It helps that he’s not playing every game, too, but when they have a really late finish, like when there have been endless stops in play, or they’ve had to drive all the way home from Wakefield, he’s been crashing in the tiny spare bedroom in the team house.

There’s only room for a single bed and the smallest wardrobe Steve’s ever seen, but then it’s not like he lives here. He’s got a toothbrush and deodorant, shaving kit and a change of underwear just in case he ever has to stay here when he hadn’t planned to, but really it’s just somewhere to sleep when it’s not a good idea to drive home. Toffee, Jaakko and Elly refer to it as  _ Woody’s room _ but that’s only because everybody else lives locally and nobody else ever needs to stay there.

They all speak English in the house, because Elly doesn’t speak anything else, Toffee doesn’t speak Finnish and apparently Jaakko’s Danish is pretty weak. Toffee certainly laughs a lot when he tries, anyway. It’s not like some of the houses Steve’s known over the years, where there’s a lot of yelling in Czech. Mostly he’s just glad that apart from the one year with Max and Dingo, way back, he’s always had his own place and not been stuck with teammates.

And now Max is coaching the Huskies, and doing better this year, and Dingo’s the captain of the Scorpions, and Steve’s…

Well. Steve’s just doing exactly the same thing he was doing back then, but with a wedding ring, two children and a very big dog. He’s still just playing hockey, it’s just that his life has shifted focus. Danielle once followed him across the country so he could play, and now he picks his teams to fit around her business. Hockey’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do with his life, and that’s why it’s hard to even start to think about anything else.

He’s not going to be playing that much longer, really. It’s time to get a real job.

He just has no idea how to approach it.

 

“Where’s Danielle gone again?”

“Cotswolds.” Steve grabs the cutlery basket out of the dishwasher and takes it over to the drawer. He’s not here that often but he does know his way around the kitchen. “Some sort of catch up with her cousins and their kids.”

Danielle had explained it to him in more detail, but Elly’s not going to know any of the backstory, or care particularly. Steve finds it hard enough to keep track of everybody and they’re technically his family.

Elly puts the last of the clean glasses in the cupboard and shuts the door, turning back to the dishwasher for the plates. “Girls’ weekend?”

“That kind of thing, yeah. Natalie coming down tonight?” Elly’s girlfriend works for a rival team but they seem to make it work.

“No, she’s got that flu bug.”

“You’re not going up to hers, then?” Steve drops the teaspoons into the right section and starts separating out the forks.

“I’m banned.” Elly laughs. “She’s told me not to come anywhere near her because she doesn’t want me to catch it. Although apparently some of the guys on the Blizzard offered to drive her down here so she could infect us all.”

“That’s sporting.” Steve nudges the cutlery drawer shut with his hip and takes the empty basket back to the dishwasher. “Guess they know they can’t beat us when we’re healthy.”

The Tornadoes have lost to the Blizzard on their last two meetings, but that’s not the point. They’ve turned things around since then. 

They’re not even playing them this weekend.

“I think she pointed out to them that anybody we beat improves their own position, so I’m not expecting her to be delivered here later in the evening.”

Elly’s quiet until you get to know him, not one to push himself forward in groups, but when he’s relaxed he’s got no problem with people knowing that he’s soft over his girlfriend. He’d absolutely drop everything to go and look after Natalie if she needed him to, germs or no germs.

Steve would have done the same for Danielle, before they lived together. Not that he wouldn’t do it  _ now,  _ it’s just that once you live together your coach doesn’t think it’s reasonable for you to be separated due to illness. Nobody expects a guy to move out and leave his wife to look after herself when she’s under the weather.

 

Well. Maybe in playoffs.

 

“How’s the new job?” Steve settles in on his favourite end of the couch while Elly channel hops for something that’s not a home renovation show.

“Yeah, good so far.” Elly stops on something about the New Zealand version of the RSPCA. It’s not like they’re really going to watch it. “I mean, it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s more interesting.”

Elly’s lucky in that his dad and stepmum both have the kind of jobs where they can pull strings and introduce him to people. Steve’s dad is a maintenance engineer in a factory and his mum works in a cafe.

Also, Elly’s got a degree and stuff.

“There’s tons of stuff I need to learn, but I think I might actually want to get in there properly.” He’s doing voluntary stuff at the new place and still working at his old job to get paid, but he’s already mentioned that he hates the old job because it’s boring.

That’s the trouble with most jobs, it seems. They’re either something that Steve knows nothing about, or the work would be incredibly boring, or he’d have to talk to people.

Nobody would ever suggest that Steve should work in a customer service position. Elly’s probably quite good on the telephone or with customers when he’s got a purpose, but Steve’s just bad with words.

Words and people.

 

***

_Andrew_

Sara’s taken Mollie to a classmate’s trampoline-themed birthday party, so in theory there’s no reason why Andrew shouldn’t be organised, but with the house to himself he’d lost track of time and he’s running late when he gets to the rink.

Well. Not late. Just not as early as he likes to be.

 

“Hey, Andrew. Do you know where Woody is?” 

Andrew doesn’t pause in the fight with his leggings as he answers Paul’s question. “Out by the benches, talking to Smith.” Woody had been unusually animated in Andrew’s peripheral vision as he’d hurried through to the locker room, far more relaxed than Andrew’s used to seeing him when he’s talking to players on other teams.

“Who?” Paul frowns.

“The Scorpions captain?” 

“Oh, Dingo! I always forget his actual name.” Paul heads for the door. “Thanks.”

Andrew wins the leggings battle and switches his t-shirt for his base layer. “No problem.” Paul’s already gone, and Andrew’s talking to the door. “I’m here for all your teammate location needs.”

“Just goalies.” 

Andrew looks over at Biscuit, trying to hide that he’d sort of forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the room.

“You’re here for all our  _ goalie  _ location needs.” Biscuit elaborates. “We’d probably ask somebody else if we were looking for a forward.”

He’s completely serious, and Andrew has no idea how to respond. 

 

Andrew loops his headphones around his neck and heads for his usual spot in the side corridor to stretch. He and Woody normally stretch together, part of their routine that doesn’t change regardless of who’s starting, and when he passes the benches Woody looks up and waves to say that he’s on his way.

“...seriously, you’re a life saver.” Paul’s gripping Woody’s shoulder. “We’re a bit screwed since G broke his ankle.”

Andrew doesn’t catch Woody’s response, and as soon as he’s in his preferred space he pulls on the headphones to block out any background noise. Woody joins him a minute later, and they go through their stretches without needing to talk.

 

They lost to the Scorpions last week, but it went to overtime. The Scorpions had a cup game mid-week, too, so the Tornadoes should be fresher, should have the advantage.

Then again, the Scorpions have won their last five league games straight, and the Tornadoes can’t string more than two wins together. The Scorpions have won every single time they’ve met this season.

It’s probably a mix of their form against the Tornadoes and the lingering effects of the midweek game that leads to their decision to start Larsson instead of Lloyd, but it doesn’t really have much effect on Andrew. Maybe the guy at the other end of the ice is a little less experienced, maybe he’ll let in more goals, maybe his guys will focus a little more on defense, but Andrew’s still facing the same offense. Larsson in net might make things a little easier for the Tornadoes forwards, but that won’t help Andrew.

 

The shot count for the first is low, six on Andrew and five on Larsson, and the score’s still stuck at 0-0.

“Don’t just sit there.” Digger paces in the middle of the room, addressing the forwards. “They’re playing a defensive game, so take it to them. Trust that our D are going to be in the right place, and make the most of having the back-up in their net.” He turns to the defense. “Don’t get carried away with the forward momentum, they’re hot on a breakaway and we’ve got to be ready for that. But good job so far, keep it up.” The  _ good job _ clearly includes Andrew too, and Digger feels he’s said enough. 

“All right, lads.” Tim bounces to his feet as Digger turns towards the door. “Let’s get back at ‘em!”

 

Toffee breaks the deadlock five minutes into the period, with a clever shot through traffic. The big screen’s in the corner of the rink, and Andrew can see it from this end so he gets to watch Larsson realise that he hasn’t got it in slow motion, the puck skimming under his outstretched leg.

The boys skate by the bench to bump fists. Andrew heads to his right to skate a figure of eight, as he went left in the last break in play, and gets back to the net in time for Elly and Jasper to check in with him before they set up for the puck drop. He pushes his back against the crossbar, taps the posts and settles in, conscious that conceding the first goal might wake the Scorpions up a bit.

It does wake them up, if you’re talking about the number of shots they put in, as the puck’s definitely spending more time in Andrew’s zone than it was before, but those shots don’t feel particularly dangerous. Andrew’s able to tip the puck back out to his defense on most of the shots that come in, only freezing it when the Scorpions are too close for comfort or when the boys need a line change.

Jamie Lewis’ shot lands in his glove, and Andrew’s going to freeze it when he hears Jasper calling  _ go, go  _ from his left. There’s been no whistle, so Andrew tips the puck straight onto Jasper’s stick. Jasper fires it forwards, up to Ed on the blue line. The Scorpions had gone for the change, and Ed’s clear to send the puck back to Elly and charge forward, drawing the Scorpions and leaving space for Elly to pass to André. André gets it into the zone, and he’s got Tim there with him and only one Scorpion defending Larsson.

It feels inevitable, like the only possible variable is whether it will be André assisted by Tim or Tim assisted by André.

In the end it’s Tim who gets the tip in, and Larsson slams his stick against the post hard enough to make the crowd react.

Andrew circles to his left this time.

 

Kyle wins the next faceoff, and the puck goes out to Mike and up to Paul before the Scorpions get their feet under them, play spilling straight over the blue line and further away from Andrew.

Mike and Jaakko hang back, but there are eight players crowded around Larsson’s net and Andrew’s got no idea what happened when the goal light comes on.

The replay’s not much clearer. Colly’s clearly confident that the goal is his, both fists in the air and one foot raised off the ice as the guys crash into him and the Scorpions shove their way past, but there’s a bit of a debate before the goal is ruled good. Even then, the assists are announced as  _ to follow. _

 

The second intermission is a lot lighter than the first, but Digger’s words of warning are justified when they skate out for the third and Lloyd is scoring the Scorpions’ crease.

The pressure shoots up, as if the Scorpions are happy to leave Lloyd to manage their net and throw everything at Andrew instead.

His shutout breaks at 48:19, when Smith - or  _ Dingo, _ apparently - squeaks a shot through the mess of legs and straight through the five-hole.

Andrew can’t see the screen for the replays from this end, and he doesn’t want to.

The guys circle as the Scorpions celebrate. “We’ll get it back.” Andy promises, tapping his stick against Andrew’s pads. “We’ll get it back.”

 

Toffee makes good on that promise with just under ten minutes still to play, letting Frank and Justin draw Lloyd down to his right and then slamming it in back-door.

4-1 isn’t as good as 3-0, but Andrew’ll take it.

 

4-2 isn’t as good either, and Andrew’s not letting them take this game away from his team.

 

The Scorpions step up a gear after their second goal, and it feels like Andrew doesn’t get much of a chance to breathe. Every time his guys clear the puck and carry it off towards Lloyd, the Scorpions chase them down and bring it back and it seems like the whistle never goes.

Maybe it would be better if it didn’t, though, as the Scorpions call a timeout when there’s finally an offside whistled.

Andrew skates into the bench, drinks some water and half-pays attention to Digger stating the obvious, then skates back out to face six attackers.

The Tornadoes throw everything into defense. They’ve got a two goal lead, they just need to hang on.

They just need to hold on. Another goal would be nice, but it’s not necessary. They just need to keep the puck away from Andrew’s net, and if it gets to him he just has to keep it out, and-

He doesn’t want to freeze the puck if he doesn’t have to, doesn’t want to set up for a faceoff that the Scorpions are statistically likely to win. If he can get the puck back out to one of his guys before the whistle goes, they can keep it moving, keep possession even if they’re in full defensive mode, he just needs to-

The shot comes in low, but he’s got a pad down to block it and he’s got time to get his stick blade in, and as he’s looking for a white shirt to pass to there’s suddenly a gap, right in front of him, and there’s not a goalie in the world who wouldn’t want the chance to surge to his feet, putting that power into his stick and sending the puck singing over the heads of the players crowded in front of him, out into the empty space beyond the blue line, willed on by a thousand watching fans-

The puck misses the empty net by several feet, and the crowd groans for him when the whistle goes for icing.

 

They don’t get any more shots on the empty net as the last ninety seconds of the game play out, but they don’t need them. Andrew turns away two more shots, Jaakko removes a Scorpion from the crease with more force than strictly necessary and somehow escapes a penalty, and the final buzzer leaves them exhausted but 4-2 up.


	14. February III

_Woody_

Steve doesn’t really get nervous anymore. The closest he’s come recently would be the first day he walked into the rink as a Tornado, not knowing what kind of welcome he was going to get, not knowing what Andrew was going to be like, but even that wasn’t a big deal. That’s hockey, and he knows he’s good at what he does.

He hasn’t done anything  _ other  _ than hockey for quite a long time now - hockey and being a dad, and the one good piece of advice that his brother’s ever given him was that nobody knows what they’re doing when they have kids, everybody’s making it up as they go.

This is different. This is new. This isn’t just helping out a friend, this is also a step towards accepting that there has to be life after hockey, and that he needs to try new things in order to one day fill that gap.

So when he walks into Paul’s workshop he’s nervous, the new kid on his first day.

 

It’s not actually Paul’s workshop, he doesn’t own it, just works there, but he’s clearly at home in a jumble of electronic components that Steve couldn’t begin to untangle.

“Oh, hey Woody.” Paul puts down whatever it is that he’s working on and stands up. “You found us okay then?”

Steve just shrugs. Clearly he found them, since he’s here, and Paul’s instruction to just come on in through the back was obviously correct. Paul’s not expecting an answer anyway, and just yells towards a door which Steve can only assume leads toward the shopfront.

“G!”

“What?” The answer floats back from the other room.

“Woody’s here!”

There’s no response this time, but after a moment there’s a clicking sound that turns out to be crutches against the floorboards.

G is a heavy-set guy in his fifties. His right ankle is strapped into an aircast boot, and he looks like he’s well-practiced on crutches.

“Hi.” He waits until he’s close enough to lean against Paul’s desk and free up a hand to shake before he speaks. “Thank you for doing this.”

Steve just nods. G’s handshake is firm to the point of being uncomfortable, but he seems okay.

“So, I’ll show you where our first load is, and we can get going.”

 

It’s a simple enough job. Paul and his colleagues repair electrical equipment. G loads it onto the van and takes it back to the customers, and he picks up new jobs to bring back to the workshop.

Only he can’t carry boxes or drive with a broken ankle, so Steve’s here to do those bits for him for a few weeks.

 

G doesn’t seem to be one for small-talk, which is a relief. He talks Steve through their first delivery list, explaining briefly how he decides the best route to take and how to organise the boxes in the back accordingly. Once he’s happy that Steve knows how to load the boxes so that nothing’s at risk of getting damaged in transit, he hauls himself into the passenger seat and lets Steve get on with plugging the first address into the sat nav.

The quiet that settles over them is a good thing. Steve can concentrate on getting a feel for the van, and listening to the directions, without worrying about answering questions or paying attention to some convoluted story about people he doesn’t know. It doesn’t feel awkward at all, it just feels like they’ll talk when they need to say something and that they’re both perfectly fine with not chatting right at the minute.

Honestly, the sat nav talks more than they do.

 

***

_Andrew_

Andrew’s not a big fan of chatting during warm-up. His own guys generally leave him alone, because everybody tends to take their cues on interacting with goalies from the goalie in question - if he started a conversation, they’d chat, but since he prefers to retreat into his own head they leave him be.

Woody does his stretches by the red line, gazing out at the opposition’s end of the ice, his thousand-yard-stare enough to rattle anybody who happens to look at his eyes.

Andrew takes the other end of the red line, following the habit they’ve fallen into, and concentrates on his hamstrings.

Both of the Cobras’ goalies settle in near Andrew. Stone’s a little further away, not too close to either the red line or the boards, and Hewett’s tucked in the corner behind him. It’s almost like Stone’s protecting his rookie, except that he’s open to any Tornadoes who might swoop up to their own side of the red line. 

Woody’s starting tonight, so Andrew’s not so far into his own head that he misses it when Bastian Pinault loops too close to Stone and Stone honest-to-god  _ growls _ at him.

Andrew’s done his share of odd things to help perpetuate the  _ goalies are weird _ myth, he can relate.

Warm-up carries on like usual. Woody goes first in the drills, because the starter always does, and then once the formal part is over and the older guys start to leave the ice Woody and Andrew both drift back to the centre line. Woody folds himself into one of those stretches that’s not technically anatomically possible, especially with pads on, and fixes his blank stare on the Cobras net. (Andrew’s not jealous. He’s got longer limbs, of course they don’t bend the same way.)

The Cobras are actually getting louder the less of them there are. The older guys have mostly gone through to the locker room, and only the younger kids are left. Two of them are still in face cages, and they’re laughing as they set up shots.

“Billy! Billy, get in here!” One of them waves Hewett in, and he glances over his shoulder to Stone as if he’s asking permission. Stone gestures to him to go on, and settles into his own stretches.

Andrew leaves them to it and goes to see if the remaining Tornadoes want to shoot at him before he retires to the bench for the evening.

 

It’s not the most inspiring game. The Tornadoes get two powerplay goals in the first, as even with Patterson left at home serving the second game of a match penalty the Cobras have plenty of guys to step up and fill his skates when it comes to dirty play.

The most exciting part is during the second, when Pinault shoves Michael up against the boards in front of the benches during a line change, well away from the puck and from the referee, and OB leans over the boards and politely informs him that he’ll break every bone in Pinault’s body if he so much as breathes on one of their rookies again.

Pinault swears at him creatively in French, and then looks surprised when Ed responds in the same language.

The Cobras get one goal during the second, which should have been washed if the ref didn’t need an eye test, and then Ed scores with an absolute rocket in the final five minutes of the third. He comes back to the bench for fist bumps and says something in French to Pinault as he skates past. Pinault lunges forwards and is almost strangled by Wainwright’s grip on the back of his jersey, since there’s a linesman watching and Wainwright’s got enough sense to stop him going onto the ice.

 

Andrew’s only going to go up to the bar for one drink after the game. He’s tired, even if he’s only been on the bench all night. He did play yesterday.

Christ, he’s starting to get old.

He’s one of the first out of the locker room, since he didn’t need to cool down before he hit the showers, and he’s already got one foot on the stairs when he realises that Pete Winthrop shouldn’t really be hanging around, since he’s not on either of the teams who played here tonight.

“Hello.” There’s something about Winthrop’s body language, half-hidden in the shadows by the staircase, that makes Andrew stop and talk to him.

“Hi.” Winthrop looks awkward, which is pretty natural considering he’s apparently driven down here on his night off to watch two of his opponent teams play. “Um. Is Woody around?”

“No.” Andrew delivers the bad news. “Danielle’s not very well and he’s gone straight home.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.” Winthrop’s shoulders drop. “Thanks.”

“Come and have a drink, anyway? Since you’re here?” Andrew doesn’t really want to socialise, tonight, but there’s a text conversation with Marc niggling at the back of his brain and he thinks it’s probably important not to let Winthrop just drive off if he came all the way down here to talk to Woody when Woody lives local to him and they could have made much easier plans. Marc’s always sending him little bits and pieces of information, rumours that he’s picked up from the grapevine, and Andrew’s got a suspicion that some of them might be true.

“Um.” Winthrop glances up the stairs, and then around at the mostly-empty rink as if he’s expecting to get spotted and evicted.

“We can go somewhere else, if you like?”

 

Andrew was vaguely thinking of the  _ George and Dragon _ when he suggested they go somewhere else, but they end up sitting in the 24 hour McDonalds up by the main road.

 

“So.” Andrew swills the ice cubes in his Sprite with the straw. “It’s none of my business but I’m going to ask anyway - are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Winthrop lies. He might be a lanky twenty-three year old but his tells are remarkably similar to Mollie’s.

“Just drove down here to watch the game?” Andrew suggests, as if that would be totally normal.

Winthrop watches him for a moment and then sort of sags. “I just wanted to catch up with Steve.”

Andrew doesn’t point out that Winthrop and Woody live in the same town, an hour north of here.

This is none of Andrew’s business, but the chance to stay out of things passed back at the rink and so he pushes on with a change of subject to see if his suspicions are correct.

“Hey, since you’re here, I want to get your take on the gossip my friend has been sending me from France.”

“O-kay…” Winthrop looks as confused as might be expected.

“So, tell me.” Andrew leans forwards. “Is Aarden as much of a dick as his reputation suggests?”

Winthrop stares at him for a moment, and then to Andrew’s absolute horror he starts to cry.

 

They take their food out to Andrew’s car, although it will probably be cold before either of them eats anything.

Winthrop’s clearly embarrassed about getting emotional in front of somebody he doesn’t really know, and he doesn’t seem to want to talk.

Andrew doesn’t really want to talk, either, but there was a time when he really needed somebody to listen and understand, and it looks like it might be time to pay it forward.

 

“So, um, you probably know that I played in the Elite league until last year.” 

The car park is well lit, and Andrew can see Winthrop nod.

“I started out backing up Marc Aubanel.” 

Winthrop nods again, as if he knows this. It’s egotistical to assume that other guys in the league will know the details of his career, but then again it’s not like there are that many British goalies. He’s played for Team GB, it’s actually pretty realistic that a younger goalie will have paid attention to him. Weird, but not actually unusual.

“But when Marc had a series of knee injuries, they brought in a guy to cover for him.” 

“Culpepper?”

He had been paying attention to Andrew’s team, then.

“Yeah.”

 

Anthony Culpepper. Born in London, moved to Canada as a kid. Strange hybrid accent from the East-End inflections his mother never lost and his father’s Maritime vowels, and a massive chip on his shoulder.

Culpepper wanted the starter’s role. Well. Culpepper wanted to star in the KHL, the SHL, and he was bitter that he’d landed as injury cover in the EIHL instead. But since he was here, he wanted the starter’s role for himself. He didn’t want to give it back to Marc once he was healthy, and he didn’t want Andrew to grow into it either.

There wasn’t much he could do about Marc, nothing he could do to affect his recovery, nothing but try to be better than Marc and make himself the preferred option, but Andrew…

Andrew could be put in his place.

Andrew could be pushed down with endless criticism, disguised as advice so that management thought he was trying to help the back-up, so that  _ Andrew _ thought he was trying to help. Andrew could be undermined, Andrew could be watched a little too closely whenever it was his turn in net, rattled to the point that he made mistakes all by himself.

Andrew had a tiny baby at home, a wife who was frustrated from lack of adult company, sleep deprivation.

 

“He told me…” Andrew stares straight ahead, through the windscreen. “He told me how disappointed he was for me. That I’d… been promising, but it didn’t look like it was working out. That so many kids come up from juniors and just can’t hack it playing with the big boys.”

“That’s bullshit.” Winthrop’s more engaged now, twisted in his seat during the story so that he’s angled towards Andrew. “Of course you were going to make it!”

Andrew glances at him. “I believed him.”

“Rijkert… Rijkert says…” Winthrop fiddles with the cup in his hand, the straw squeaking against the plastic lid. “Rijkert says I was riding on Steve’s tail. That I can’t do anything on my own. That I just don’t have what it takes to ever be a starter.”

Andrew bristles indignantly on Winthrop’s behalf.

“And maybe he’s right. I mean, what do I do? Come running to Steve. Come running to Steve somewhere Rijkert can’t find me.”

“That’s just looking for your friend, though. You’re allowed to hang out with your friends.”

Winthrop seems to shrink in on himself.

“Seriously?” Andrew turns in his seat to look at him properly. “Is he giving you shit for being  _ friends  _ with Woody?” 

“He saw us. We went out for a drink, and he happened to see us and he pulled me aside at training and said…” Winthrop turns away, looks out of the window. “He said it’s no wonder I was doing so badly if I was still crawling after a guy who’d been thrown off the team for being useless.”

Andrew can’t think of anything rude enough to call Aarden. “...that’s bullshit. First off, Woody’s a good goalie, and Aarden doesn’t know shit about him.”

“I know.” Winthrop played with Woody for years and knows how good he is.

“So, if he’s talking out of his arse about that, stands to reason that he’s talking out of his arse about everything else.”

Winthrop makes a noise that’s almost a laugh.

“So, listen, I don’t know you very well. But I’ve seen you play, and you’re not a bad goalie. You need to know that. And you need to know that if Aarden’s trying to get into your head and tell you that you’re not good enough to be there, that’s because he’s scared. It’s never in a guy’s best interests to push his back-up down. If you’re a starter in this league then it’s an unwritten part of your  _ job  _ to help the younger guy out. I don’t see any dedicated goalie coaches around here, do you?”

Winthrop shakes his head.

“So, don’t listen to what he says. Watch what he does. You can still learn from studying the way he plays, if only so that one day you get to sit in another locker room and tell your team how to grind him into the ice.” It’s an echo of what Marc said to him, years ago, the two of them sitting at Marc’s kitchen counter in the wee hours of the morning. “And remember, he’s scared of you. He knows that you’re coming up behind him, and he doesn’t like it. So you let his words go in one ear and out of the other, and you smile like he’s just told you he likes the way your mask has been painted, and you go out there and play the best that you can.”

Winthrop nods slowly, takes a slurp from his drink.

“Um.” He’s clearly wary of asking questions.

Andrew raises his eyebrows to get him to continue.

“What… what happened, to Culpepper?”

Andrew can’t help the smile that he can feel creeping onto his face. It’s not a very nice smile, he knows. Sara’s told him that.

“Well. You had to ask, right?”

Winthrop flinches, minute but noticeable.

“Hey, no, I mean, you had to ask because you don’t know, not  _ you had to ask _ like you weren’t supposed to. My point is that Culpepper just kind of faded away.”

“What happened?”

Andrew shrugs. “When a guy gets a reputation for being bad in the locker room, that’s not going to do his career any good. If he’s bad in the room and that spills onto the ice, he’s got no chance. And if you can’t manage a whole season on the same team, if you’re getting through two, three teams a season, every season, then people start wondering why. Coaches and GMs start asking questions, and you know what it’s like, you know how small this sport is. I think he ended up retiring before he hit thirty, because he just couldn’t get a contract.”

“And…” There’s a flicker of animation from Winthrop that’s more in keeping with the stories Woody occasionally tells about the Saxons. “Do you think the same would happen to Rijkert?”

Andrew grins. “Well. The reason I asked in the first place was because Marc was asking me to confirm some rumours, and Marc lives in France now. Aarden doesn’t have the best reputation, I think that’s why he came over here in the first place…”

Winthrop’s relaxed enough now to open the bag with his burger in.

“That’s probably cold by now.”

“Probably.” Winthrop agrees. “Hey, thanks for this, man. I, uh, I really appreciate it.”

“Seriously, I’m glad I could help. I know how tough it is.” Andrew wouldn’t have got through those months without Marc and Sara. Culpepper was good at what he did, undermining, destroying confidence. “And there’s no instant fix for it, so, uh, if you want, you can call me. If you need to.”

“Thanks.” Winthrop clearly means that, but they’ve also handled about as much emotion as they can cope with so he turns his attention to his burger. “You’re right.” He looks disappointed. “It is cold.”

 

Andrew sees Winthrop back to his own car - watches his tail lights disappear into the drive-thru for a fresh burger to fuel the drive back to Essex - and heads home, a lot later than normal.

Sara mumbles something into her pillow as he climbs carefully into bed, rolling over just enough so that she can tuck her arm through his as soon as he’s in the right place.

“Had a pretty big conversation with a kid from one of the other teams.” Andrew tells her, in response to the query that years spent sharing a bed allowed him to decipher through the pillow. “He’s having a bit of a Culpepper situation.”

Sara squeezes his arm but doesn’t open her eyes. “Everything okay?” Her voice is a little more alert.

“It will be.” 

“Good.” She relaxes back into the bedding. “Call Marc tomorrow.”

“Yes dear.” 

She swats at him sleepily. It’s good advice, and he probably would have called Marc anyway. Culpepper’s behind him now, and if it had been a contest then Andrew won it, no question, but it won’t hurt to air out the issue of Rijkert Aarden with somebody he trusts.

If nothing else, it will fuel the gossip mill that’s going to speed Aarden’s destruction of his own career.


	15. March

_Elly_

It’s a good thing that Dad and Michelle are away this weekend, as otherwise Dad might have made good on his threat to crash David’s last day at work.

He’s only been there six months, and his training schedule doesn’t leave him much room for after-work socialising, so David wasn’t expecting anything. There’s a _good luck_ card, full of largely impersonal messages from people who won’t remember him in a few weeks time (the feeling’s mutual) and a couple of over-the-top paragraphs from the girls he’s actually been working closely with.

They’d had a whip-round, like they do every time somebody escapes, but even after six months they clearly don’t know him that well because there’s an Amazon voucher tucked into the card. Nothing personal.

That’s okay, though, it’s nice that people made the amount of effort that they did, and it’s not like he’s really hidden that he’s happy to be leaving. The people here are nice enough, but he’s never really felt engaged.

The work he’s been doing for Michelle’s company isn’t that different in itself, answering emails, updating spreadsheets, but it makes a huge impact to be doing something he cares about. Data entry is data entry, but ordering engineering components is a lot less interesting than organising supplies for refugee camps, and when the full time job came up in the Maidstone office there was no way he wasn’t going to apply for it.

He’s also certain that he got the job on his own merits and not because of his connection to Michelle, which puts him in a better starting position.

 

David’s never amassed a collection of personal items at work, no photos on his desk, so apart from the mug he’d got in the office Secret Santa and his Colorado Avalanche coaster, there’s nothing to fit into his bag at the end of the day.

Walking out doesn’t really feel any different, except that he doesn’t have to come back. Leaving the office for the last time isn’t exactly life changing, because it’s Friday and he still has to go straight to training, just like every week.

 

He’s got two text messages when he parks up at the rink.

**Just leaving now xx**

Natalie’s coming down for the weekend. The Blizzard are the visiting team tomorrow, so she gets to stay both nights for a change. Her text was sent a little while back, because she tends to get out of work early on Fridays, so David doesn’t bother to text back. She won’t see it while she’s driving.

The other text is from Leon.

**Are you busy?**

**Training until 8. What’s up?**

Leon doesn’t text just to say hi, he must need something.

**Stranded at Cody’s. Got a puncture**

He’s included the bicycle emoji, presumably in case David’s forgotten that that’s the only kind of vehicle Leon has access to. Cody’s one of his teammates and classmates, and David can only guess that Leon went over there after school and now has no way to get home. Cody’s family live on the opposite side of town, close enough to cycle but a bit too far to walk, especially pushing a bike with a flat tire.

**Can you hang on until after training?**

**K**

It’s not like there’s an alternative, really. David just hopes that Cody’s family are okay with Leon hanging around.

He texts Natalie after all.

**I’ll be a little bit late, got to rescue Leon and his bike first xx**

 

It’s a little surreal to think that there are only a few weeks of training left now. At the same time, though, it feels like a lifetime has passed since he first walked into the rink as a Tornado.

Sometimes he forgets that Woody hasn’t been there for the full season. Sometimes he forgets that he thought that Jasper was a self-important arsehole who refused to communicate.

Jasper usually finds a way to remind him.

“Jesus, Biscuit, what the fuck was that?”

 _That_ was a badly fluffed pass on a scrimmage that led to far too easy a goal against them.

“I don’t know, Jasper. Why don’t you explain it to me in very small words?” Somehow, as part of their ongoing efforts to learn to communicate, Biscuit has lost any sense of respect or awe he might once have had towards the more experience players.

Jasper gives him a friendly shove, and that would probably have been that - except Digger was listening.

“Go ahead, Jasper. Talk us through what went wrong there.”

 

The thing is, once Digger actually turned his attention to the defense, David finally started to understand why people want to play for him, why guys keep re-signing here year after year. The defense’s weakness was communication, and although Digger could very easily have told Biscuit what went wrong, or assumed that Biscuit could figure it out for himself, giving Jasper an opportunity to work on explaining and communicating is almost more important than getting Biscuit not to make mistakes like that in the first place.

Jasper ends up pulling Biscuit aside to practice that particular aspect, and David and Mike go in for the next line rush.

 

At the end of training, there’s a text waiting from Natalie.

**I’ve got Leon, you can come straight home xx**

 

“Traffic was really good, so I got here not that long after six.” Natalie’s in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. “So when I saw your text I facebooked Leon to see if he needed an earlier rescue, and he told me where he was so I went and got him.”

It still doesn’t quite seem real that Leon’s accepted Natalie like he has. The kettle boils, and David gets the milk.

“Where’s his bike?”

“Back at your Dad’s place.” Natalie pours the hot water into the row of mugs in front of her. “Dropped it off when we picked up Humph.”

It’s not like they were planning a big romantic evening. They’re just hanging out with his housemates, ordering a takeaway, watching some TV. Somehow while he was at practice Natalie has not only rescued his little brother from awkwardly outstaying his welcome at Cody’s place but has also realised that since Dad and Michelle are away Leon’s on his own at home, and has invited Leon to join them for the evening - and Leon felt comfortable enough to accept.

And since Humph has already been with Mrs H next door all day, they took Leon’s bike home, collected Humph and brought him with them. David’s got a sneaking suspicion that Leon and Humph are going to be staying the night.

“Okay.” David picks up three of the mugs. “Whose is whose?”

 

They order Chinese, because Toffee and Jaakko both want in, Toffee’s not a fan of curry, and they all like to pretend that Chinese is much healthier than pizza.

“You’d think that after this long working with hockey players I would be used to how much you guys can eat.” Natalie shakes her head as they unpack the boxes in the kitchen. “There’s enough for about ten people here.”

“Why are you putting the food in here?” Jaakko follows the smell. “We normally put it on the table in…” he waves towards the living room, where Toffee’s setting up Netflix.

David just points to Humph, who’s sitting as close to Natalie as he can get. “He can reach the coffee table.”

For a middle aged, slightly overweight, incredibly lazy dog, Humph can move amazingly quickly when he’s thieving a spring roll.

Natalie takes three steps across the room to get some plates, and nearly trips on Humph when she turns back.

“Leon!” David takes the plates from Natalie, puts them down and digs out some spoons. “Can you come and distract Humph?”

“Sure.” Leon appears in the doorway. He clicks his fingers for Humph, and when that proves a lot less interesting than sweet and sour pork, he comes right into the kitchen and drags the dog out of the room.

“Huh.” David opens some containers and tries to take the prawn crackers away from Jaakko before he can eat any more of them. Jaakko retreats with his prize. “Leon’s being unusually cooperative.”

Leon doesn’t modify his behaviour around Natalie anymore, not that he ever really did. If he’s going to sulk about something, he’s not going to stop just because Natalie’s there.

“Jaakko.” Natalie says, quiet enough that they won’t hear her in the other room. David rolls his eyes.

“I thought the hero worship would have worn off by now, given that Jaakko’s, you know, an idiot.” He lowers his voice to match hers.

Natalie snorts and digs her elbow into his ribs. “Are you _jealous_ , David?”

“No!”

“Are you jealous that your baby brother has a favourite Tornado and it’s not you?”

“No…” She’s teasing, and it’s easy to let his response sound slightly sulky just to amuse her.

 

Leon would probably be more likely to behave normally if Jaakko stopped deliberately paying him extra attention to boost his own ego, but but it doesn’t look like that will be happening tonight. David and Natalie commandeered the couch while the others were still fighting over the special fried rice, and Toffee got to the best armchair before anybody else, but when Leon dithered over where to sit Jaakko insisted that Leon have the other chair and then sat on the floor with his back right next to Leon’s legs, despite putting himself directly in Humph-range and making eating his dinner into a game of keep-away that needed just as much skill and coordination as it would on the ice.

Humph, of course, couldn’t care less about impressing Jaakko or Toffee. He identifies Toffee as the person most likely to sneakily feed him, and Jaakko as the person most likely to accidentally leave food in the Humph-zone, but once the plates have been cleared to the kitchen he happily settles down for a nap across Jaakko’s ankles.

“Do you not want to watch this?” Jaakko asks him, pointing at the TV.

“He’s seen it before.” Leon chirps automatically, his shoulders tightening a little as he realises what he’s done, and relaxing when Jaakko laughs more than the joke deserves.

Toffee rolls his eyes when David happens to look in his direction.

Humph farts. There’s a reason why he’s not supposed to eat table scraps, especially takeaways in sauce. It’s pretty ripe.

Humph snuffles a bit and settles deeper into his nap, despite how uncomfortably bony Jaakko’s ankles look. Leon’s looking mortified that the dog who’s only here because of him has just done _that_ right on top of Jaakko, and David’s torn between enjoying his brother’s discomfort and wanting to protect him.

“ _Øv_ , Jaakko!” Toffee waves a hand in front of his face as if he’s trying to clear the air. “What did you have for lunch?”

Jaakko splutters. “That wasn’t me!”

“Don’t try and blame the dog.” Natalie chips in. “That’s just mean when he can’t defend himself.”

“But it _was_ him!” Jaakko points at Humph and then turns to Leon for support.

David wants to hold his breath, not just because of Humph’s atmospheric contribution. Come on, Leon, Jaakko’s just another idiot hockey player.

Leon shrugs. “Came from down where you’re sitting.”

“Where the _dog_ is sitting!” Jaakko laughs as he protests, though, because he likes attention in any form. “You are all very rude to me.”

“Sssh.” David tells him. “We’re trying to watch TV.”

 

***

_Leon_

It’s been the _weirdest_ morning.

First, he woke up in David’s house, which is new but shouldn’t feel too weird because he’s his brother, but he woke up in the spare room which would be a normal thing except that sometimes Steve Woods sleeps here. So Leon’s woken up in a house full of professional hockey players, in the bed that’s sort of reserved for the goalie. And maybe he lays there and pretends for a little bit that this is his actual life.

And then he gets up and finds that David and Natalie have taken Humph out for his walk, and he ends up _helping_ _Anders Toft to cook breakfast,_ as if that’s just what happens on Saturday mornings.

Jaakko staggers in and slumps onto the breakfast bar, reaching out without looking until he finds the mug tree and picks himself a cup. His hair looks ridiculous.

Toffee looks at Leon and points at the coffee pot. “He’ll sit there for up to 20 minutes on his own.”

Leon carefully takes the cup from Jaakko. It’s got a picture of a unicorn on and says _World’s Best Sister_.

When he puts it back into Jaakko’s hand, full of milky coffee as instructed by Toffee, Jaakko tightens his grip without looking up.

 

So, weird morning. Woke up in a hockey house with pro hockey players behaving like it was normal for him to be there.

Then they have this routine where most of the guys on the team meet for a coffee, which started as a coincidence when some of them just happened to meet up and is now this big thing where most of the local guys go to the same coffee shop at about eleven on the mornings of home games. Leon knows about this - a lot of people know about this, a number of fans like to just _happen_ to get coffee about that time - so he’s expecting David to drop him and Humph home on the way.

Except apparently they’re just dropping Humph home and everybody’s expecting Leon to come out with them, and when they get there the whole team seem to think it’s normal for Leon to be there. They chirp David for bringing Natalie when she works for another team, the team they’re playing tonight, they chirp Natalie herself and she gets her phone out and pretends she’s making strategy notes to send to the Blizzard when everybody’s just talking about random shit anyway, but Leon just gets to sit there in the middle of all these guys, talking about football like he’s just one of the team.

It’s just been a really weird morning.

 

Mikey Dannet has pulled him in as backup while he tells Whitts’ cousin Jasper that he’s wrong about something on _Game of Thrones_ , when Jasper’s attention shifts to the door and he waves.

“That’s my aunt.” He explains to Dannet, who’s twisting to see who Jasper’s waving to. Leon’s got his back to the door and the queue, so he can’t see what’s happening without it being obvious.

It’s cool, though, it’s fine, Jasper has loads of aunts and-

“And my cousin Braden.” Jasper continues.

 _Be cool, be cool, be cool._ Leon counts slowly to five and then turns, casually, to see what’s going on.

Whitts is looking right at him, and when they make eye contact he grins at Leon, says something to his mum and ambles over.

“Hey, Steyner.”

“Hey.” Leon nods. There are no spare chairs nearby, and Whitts just stands a bit awkwardly.

“Hi, Braden!” Jasper seems far too excited to see him. He’s taking the piss because Whitts only said hi to Leon. Whitts just kind of grunts and Jasper starts to laugh. Whitts glares at him.

Leon takes a sip of his drink for something to do, and feels a bit awkward that he’s drinking tea when everybody else has coffee. Sometimes not liking coffee makes him feel like a kid.

“What are you up to?” Whitts ignores Jasper and turns his attention back to Leon.

“Just hanging out.” Leon aims for casual and he thinks he got it. Just hanging out with the Tornadoes, no big deal. He’s not even sat with David, he’s just chilling with these guys because that’s what he does now. (Weirdest. Morning. Ever.)

“Cool.” Whitts shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Um. I was going to meet Will and Tyler down by HMV. If you wanted to hang out with us.”

 _Be cool, be cool_.

“Um.” Leon shrugs. “Sure.” He took his bag home when they took Humph, he’s got his jacket and his wallet and his phone. “I’m just, uh…” He’s got half a mug of tea left.

“No rush.” Whitts looks like he wouldn’t mind hanging out with the Tornadoes.

“If you’re coming to sit with us,” Jasper grins, like he’s up to something, “we should probably find a seat for Auntie Julie as well.”

Whitts looks horrified. Leon can imagine how he’d feel if Mum came and crashed him hanging out with the Tornadoes.

“I’m nearly done.” His tea’s cool enough that he can drink it fairly fast now.

“Hey, Leon, are you leaving us?” Jaakko leans over from where he’s sitting with Jack Andrews. “That’s not cool!”

“Leon’s sick of babysitting you.” Toffee tells him. “Got better things to do.”

“Lies!” Jaakko gasps. “Leon, don’t let him say that!” He’s such a drama queen.

He’s kind of getting used to Jaakko now, so he just finishes his tea and shrugs like Toffee’s right but he’s too polite to say so. Jaakko sighs and his shoulders slump. “You’re still coming to the game tonight, right?”

“Yeah.” Natalie’s going to see if she can introduce him to Lucas Rhodes and Matt Cooper.

“Good.” Jaakko insists on a fist bump when Leon stands up.

“Are you going to get home to let Humph out before the game?” David has to be boring, of course, but Dad and Michelle aren’t getting back until late tonight and Mrs H isn’t home this afternoon.

“Yeah.” He’s going to want to get changed before the game, anyway. Maybe take a shower.

David slips him twenty quid, because he’s not so bad really.

“Ready?” Leon turns back to Whitts. His mum’s come over while they were talking and Whitts is now holding some kind of cold drink that’s covered in whipped cream and caramel sauce, and looking kind of embarrassed about it.

Leon doesn’t feel quite so bad about his tea, now.


	16. Playoffs, week one

_Andrew_

_Wednesday 22nd March - Eagles v Tornadoes_

Andrew gets a glove to Stanton’s shot and presses it to the ice, waiting for the referee to freeze the play. The Eagles tend to get in close to the net, and he doesn’t need to look up to know that there will be at least one of them right on top of him.

The whistle goes, and Andy removes an opposing forward from the crease with precisely the right amount of aggression.

 

The actual ice isn’t too bad in the Eagles’ rink, but the boards aren’t in great condition. They’re good enough to pass whatever half-hearted inspection they might get, but some of them are at slightly weird angles and it makes it hard to predict the bounces.

Their fans are all pretty intense, too, the kind of people who will boo a guy when he’s down.

It’s not Andrew’s favourite place to play.

He’s played in worse, though, and it’s not hard to tune everything else out and focus on the game ahead. Playoffs always feel a bit different.

The Pumas are expected to win this group, but the Tornadoes and the Eagles both have a good chance of qualifying for the next round. The Tornadoes need every point they can get, and if they can take those points off the Eagles, that’s even better.

 

There’s a line change, the linesman collects the puck, and they set up to go again.

The score’s 1-1, and they’re halfway through the second period.

 

They pull ahead just before the end of the period. Toffee and Frank push forward together, the Eagles defense struggling to stay ahead of them, and then at the last second Frank drops the puck back to the blue line and Elly rockets it into the net.

Mkrstchjan is furious.

 

Whether it was Mkrstchjan or Paston who yelled at the team during the second intermission, the Eagles come out blazing for the third.

They’re on it from the first faceoff, the puck winging its way back to their defense and then flying forwards, into Andrew’s zone. It seems like everybody’s come with it, there are legs everywhere and he can’t get the clear sightlines he wants, knowing that any second the puck’s going to appear from somewhere and -

Andrew jerks his glove up just in time, curling his hand and then his body around the puck while a shoving match breaks out above him. The net comes loose, drifting for the boards, and Andrew and the puck scoot backwards out of the way of the drama.

Nobody gets any penalties.

The faceoff is to Andrew’s left, Justin beaten to the draw by James West, and then the puck goes out to a Eagles defenseman and screams straight in over Andrew’s shoulder.

It’s a beautiful shot and Andrew hates it. They’re tied again, with eighteen minutes to play.

 

The frustration is starting to build for both teams, like static, slowing them down. Nobody’s getting the breakaways, nobody’s getting the scoring chances. Andrew’s batting pucks away, pushing them back out to his team’s waiting sticks, but nothing’s getting past Mkrstchjan either.

2-2, and the clock’s running down in fits and starts.

 

The Eagles’ third goal is absolute garbage. Somebody tangles a stick in Jaakko’s skates, there are people in the crease, and Andrew finds his back against the crossbar and _shoves_ long before the puck trickles over the line, but despite the whistle sounding before the red light goes on, the referee signals that the goal is good.

“What the _fuck?_ The net was _off,_ for fuck’s sake!” Andrew pushes his mask up and jabs his stick angrily towards where the lino is collecting the net from a couple of feet back. “The whole fucking team was in the crease!”

The referee - Wilding, Andrew’s never seen him before tonight - looks at him and skates away.

On the bench, Digger is yelling something similar.

This is what happens when you play in a league that doesn’t have any _fucking_ video replay.

 

“Hey.” Tim circles by, smacks his stick into Andrew’s pads. “That was a joke, we’ll get that back for you.”

 

They don’t get it back.

 

Andrew avoids eye contact as they go through the handshake line, not reacting to the back slaps and helmet taps from his own guys, keeping it as brief as possible as he passed through the Eagles.

He gets straight onto the bus while the rest of the guys are out foraging for takeaway, pulls his headphones on and closes his eyes, hoping that they’ll take the hint and leave him alone. Losing sucks, but losing because the fucking referee doesn’t have a fucking clue about how the game works…

He can tell that somebody’s stopped in the aisle next to him. He’s not actually playing any music yet, just trying to shut the world out.

“Um.”

“Go away.” That’s Woody speaking.

“But-” that’s… Paul? Andrew doesn’t open his eyes to check.

“Not now.”

Andrew stays as he is until the bus pulls away, and then slowly opens his eyes. He’s turned his face towards the window, so he can check out what’s going on in the reflection before he has to face anybody. The seats in front of and behind him are empty, and Woody’s across the aisle paying him no attention at all. Andrew carefully shifts to a more comfortable position, as far as that’s possible with the limited leg room.

There’s a paper bag on the seat next to him, printed with the KFC logo. He glances around before he opens it, but nobody’s watching for a reaction.

 

***

 

***

_Saturday 25th March - Tornadoes v Saxons_

The Saxons stream off their bus, heading into the visitors’ locker room in a flurry of sticks and gear bags. They’re in good time, and it’s not long before most of them are kicking a ball around in the zamboni bay.

Paul wanders over to say hi to the guys he used to play with. Woody won’t go near them until after the game, especially as he’s starting tonight.

Aarden is standing right in the middle of the doors that lead out to the bus, talking to their equipment guy. The guy looks like he’s really not that interested in whatever Aarden’s irritated about.

 

Winthrop snuck down the corridor to the home locker room about five minutes ago, and Woody’s led him around the corner to where the fire escape stairs come down from the upper level of seating. Nobody ever needs to go down there normally.

Andrew’s doing his stretches in the corridor, out of earshot of whatever Woody is saying to Winthrop, but very much in the way of anybody else who might wander down there.

“Hey, have you seen Woody?” Ed looms over Andrew and waits for him to push his headphones back.

“Yes.” Andrew chooses not to elaborate. He’s allowed to be weird just before games, he doesn’t need to be helpful.

“Because somebody’s looking for their back-up and thought he might be with Woody.”

“Who’s looking?” Andrew folds his right leg back in and extends the left.

“Aarden.” Ed frowns.

“In that case, I haven’t seen him and I have no idea where he might be.”

There’s a pause, and then Ed smiles slowly. “Do we all hate the guy, then?” Andrew looks up sharply at the emphasis on _all_ but doesn’t answer, and Ed continues. “What’s he done to you? It can’t be the same racist bullshit he spews at me on the ice.”

“I don’t like bullies.”

Ed clearly gets that there’s more to this story, but just nods and steps back. “Well, I can’t see Woody or Winthrop, so I guess they’re not down here.” He’s got the grin on his face that usually precedes somebody finding that their laces are tied together. “Guess I can pass that message on.”

Andrew gets to his feet. He can finish his stretches in a bit.

 

Aarden’s hanging around at the end of the corridor. Nobody’s with him, but there are enough of the guys passing casually by that Andrew gets the impression he’s been strongly discouraged from coming down this corridor himself.

“This was the only goalie I could find!” Ed presents Andrew with a smile, as if he thinks this is an excellent solution to whatever Aarden wanted.

Andrew doesn’t smile, just waits to see what Aarden will say. In theory, he’s got no issues with Andrew and no reason to suspect that Andrew knows anything about the situation with Winthrop.

“I’m looking for my back-up.” Aarden shoots Ed a dirty look, like he’s stupid, and focuses his attention on Andrew. “He’s supposed to be with us.”

Andrew shrugs. “Can’t help you.”

Aarden actually twists to try and look round Andrew, as if he doesn’t believe him. Ed steps in to block his path, casually hooking his pendant out of his collar in a familiar gesture. Ed fiddles with his necklace all the time.

Aarden stops, glances at Andrew. “He needs to come back now.”

“Can’t help you.”

Aarden’s attention keeps sliding to Ed, who’s watching him and muttering very quietly to himself in French. After a moment, Aarden swears in Afrikaans and hurries away.

Ed waits until he’s out of sight before he grins and tucks his necklace away. “Superstitious twat.”

“What was that?” Andrew nods to where the necklace is hidden under Ed’s shirt.

“Nothing.” Ed smirks. “Although he’s going to let it get into his head. And he can’t do anything about it, either. What’s he going to do, tell the ref that I cursed him?”

“...and did you?” Andrew can feel his eyebrows rising. Ed laughs.

“No, that was just nonsense.” He hooks the pendant back out. “And this is hardly magic.”

“What is it?” Andrew looks closer, expecting some kind of symbolic imagery that Aarden would have associated with Ed’s background.

“It’s a frog.” Ed shows it to him. “My sister bought it for me the first Christmas she left home. She just thought it was cute.”

“And Aarden thinks that you just cursed his game with your magic frog.” It sounds ridiculous.

“Mmhm.” Ed grins. “All in his head, and it only works because he’s a racist piece of shit who thinks that the colour of my skin makes me a primitive heathen.”

 

When Ed scores what will turn out to be the game winning goal, a few minutes into the third period, he makes a point of hooking his necklace out from under his gear and kissing it, looking right at Aarden while he does.

OB tenses next to Andrew on the bench, obviously anticipating that some of the Saxons might take exception to Ed fucking with their goalie, but Ed comes off the ice without incident.

 

***

_Sunday 26th March - Tornadoes v Pumas_

The schedule has given them a double home game this weekend, double away next weekend. They’re at home on Wednesday, too, for the last time this season, but a 7.30 faceoff on a school night is too late for Mollie and so this is the last home game she’ll see.

That’s not why she’s beside herself with excitement, though.

“How much longer until they get here?” It’s the seven hundredth time she’s asked since breakfast.

“They’re on the ferry now.” Sara reminds her. “So it should be less than two hours.”

“Two hours!” That’s clearly the longest time in the _world_.

“Yup.”

Marc, Allie and Sophie have been driving since yesterday morning, and Mollie is desperate to see her friend again.

Andrew kind of gets how she feels, except that he’s got a game to play.

“Can I get a kiss for luck?”

Marc’s ferry docks about the time that Andrew is supposed to get to the rink, so he’s not going to see them before the game.

Mollie provides the requested kiss, and runs off to check that her preparations for Sophie’s arrival haven’t unraveled in the ten minutes since she last looked.

“Have fun.” Sara kisses the other cheek. “We’ll see you there.”

 

It’s not going to be an easy game, tonight. The Pumas held onto the top spot in the League for weeks, stayed in contention until the very last game of the season, and having had to settle for second place they’ve got something to prove.

Just because they’re the favourites in this group, it doesn’t mean they’re going to come in over-confident. The Pumas are coming in to work for every point they can have.

It’s Andrew’s job to stop them.

 

“Alright, guys, listen up!” Tim quiets the chatter in the room easily. “This is the first time we’ve played the Pumas. New competition. New score.” They’re 0-6 in their regular-season series against the Pumas. “Fresh start. We’re not the same team that started this year - let’s show them that.”

 

Andrew’s career path hasn’t left him with a pool of friends scattered throughout this league, unlike a lot of players at this level. The Tornadoes are fairly unusual in the way they keep their players, so that only a handful of guys have much history with their opponents.

Ironically, Andrew’s the one with the contacts tonight. Seb Specht had played in front of him for several years, until whatever it was that caused his play to disintegrate the season before last. He’s never been the most outgoing of guys, but Andrew’s been pleased over the six times they’ve met this season to see him laughing with his teammates and playing close to how Andrew remembers him.

Well. Pleased on a personal level that a guy he used to get on well with and who had some problems is doing okay. From a hockey point of view he’d probably prefer it if Seb wasn’t so on-form.

“Hey.” Seb was never much of a talker when they knew each other better, so it’s hardly a surprise that he just nods with his greeting and settles in to stretch a respectful distance across the red line.

“Hey.” Andrew comes up onto his knees and goes through a set of shimmies that he knows look ridiculous (Sara collects video footage) but which really do help to keep his hips loose.

Whichever of the Lewis brothers it is who plays for the Pumas drops down next to Seb. Andrew hasn’t bothered to work out which one is the Puma and which is the Scorpion. They have similar playing styles, it doesn’t make enough of a difference to him to have been a priority. Maybe he’ll figure it out if he plays them next year too.

 

There’s a party atmosphere in the locker room after the game, even if it is a Sunday. Finally beating the Pumas is a great way to mark their last weekend game on home ice. Some idiot let Kyle choose the playlist, but even his early-90s techno mix can’t spoil the buzz that comes from turning a 2-3 deficit into a 4-3 win in the final six minutes of a game.

“Oh my god.” Something in Michael’s tone attracts the attention of most of the room. “Guys.” He’s holding his phone.

“What is it?” OB’s nearest.

“My mum just text. She’s at Jack’s game tonight.” Michael’s brother is the back-up goalie for the Eagles. “Psycho Karl was rushed off in an ambulance during the game.”

The room breaks out in chatter.

“What happened?”

“Who were they playing?”

“Saxons.”

Andrew turns towards Woody when he hears that. Woody’s already got his phone out. “Pete doesn’t know.” He says, anticipating Andrew’s question. “Just that there was an ambulance and that Karl didn’t play the second or third periods.”

“Wow.” Paul sits down in his stall. “I guess this means our chances look good on Wednesday, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Artwork by Fie, the official Back Up There character artist!](https://ebonybow.tumblr.com/commissions)


	17. Playoffs, week two

_Wednesday 29th March - Tornadoes v Eagles_

_Andrew_

Woody’s starting tonight, so Andrew settles on the bench to see how badly the Eagles fall apart without their starting netminder.

Michael’s brother looks grey through warm-up, although it’s clearly with nerves and not his own medical issues. Word’s gone round that Mkrstchjan had his appendix out on Sunday night, and won’t be back in this post-season. Jack Dannet seems like a reasonable back-up, but Michael says he only ever gets to play against the Piranhas, so this will be a big deal for him.

Andrew had to step in half-way through a playoff game as a back-up once, when Marc took a puck to the mask that was bad enough he had to miss the last period, and it was one of the scariest things he’d done at that point in his career. He’s played more stressful games since, but it was massive at the time.

Of course, as much as nobody would wish ill-health and emergency surgery on another guy, it does improve their chances of getting through this round.

 

The Eagles D are stepping up, but it’s really clear that a lot of their success is based on the way that Mkrtschjan can handle anything that gets through.

Dannet’s not as capable.

He’s got potential, Andrew can see that, but playing behind somebody like Mkrstchjan means that he’s just not getting the game time he needs to develop.

If Frank had shaken off the Eagles defense and gone in one-on-one with Mkrstchjan, the puck could have ended up in Mkrstchjan’s glove, or knocked away to the boards, but when he shakes off the D and goes in on Dannet, it’s not a surprise to anybody that it ends with the red light on and the crowd cheering.

Tim scores on the play from the next faceoff.

 

Justin makes it 3-0 in the final seconds of the period.

 

Andrew would love to know what Paston said to the Eagles during the first intermission, but they come out with an obvious change in strategy.

It’s just… not a very _good_ strategy.

The Eagles don’t have an out-and-out enforcer, they don’t have a guy like OB, or like the Saxons have Kirkman or the Huskies have Mason. Mkrstchjan’s been a keystone for their team for several years, though, and his aggressive style has clearly bled through.

Robinson starts things rolling with a borderline legal check that takes Kyle clean off his skates. West steals the puck and charges off towards Woody, only to run into Elly who’s a lot harder to push around than he looks like he should be.

Stanton tries the same trick against Tim two shifts later, except that he’s the other side of that fine line between hard and illegal, and Earnshaw’s arm goes up. Tim somehow managed to stay on his feet and still has control of the puck, so the penalty’s delayed and Woody skates hard for the bench. Justin’s got one leg over the boards, ready to go, but Čeněk Novotný hurls himself into Toffee’s path and gets control of the puck just as Michael and Biscuit are hauling Woody in by his jersey.

The penalty kill lasts 43 seconds and the Tornadoes are 4-0 up.

Apparently that’s not enough to deter the Eagles from their new strategy, because Lowe gets called for elbows against Ed a couple of minutes later, and then Sedlák gets away with some pushing and shoving out of Earnshaw’s sight once that penalty’s been killed.

“OB.” Digger’s standing on the rear bench with his arms folded. “With Justin and Frank.”

“Yes Coach.” OB shuffles to the front bench, already focused on the ice. Tim’s line is coming in, and Justin leads the way out over the boards as they bounce in through the gate.

Robinson’s obviously set to repeat the move that knocked Kyle over earlier, totally failing to account for OB taking a different approach to the game. OB makes a soft pass to the gap where Frank is going to be, which wouldn’t work with anybody slower, making it late enough that Robinson’s going to carry through with his hit.

OB does fall over, but he was clearly expecting it and manages to cushion his landing on a very surprised Robinson.

It’s a little frustrating that the whistle goes before Frank gets a shot at the goal.

Robinson is apparently trying to blame OB for the whole thing, but OB comes back to the bench with a big grin and an unnecessary favouring of his left leg, and Robinson picks up a match penalty for slew-footing.

“A what?” Biscuit’s confused. So are the other rookies, and probably half the rest of the team.

“Deliberately trying to injure somebody by knocking their skates out from behind.” Andrew had to look it up, the only other time he’s heard it called.

“I don’t think that’s what he was trying to do…” Biscuit’s still confused.

“Match penalty, though.” Andrew shrugs. “Maybe that’ll settle them down.”

 

Unfortunately, that seems to be what happens, because Sedlák manages to get round both Jaakko and Andy and score an ugly wrap-around in the final seconds of the period.

“We are _not_ giving this to them.” Digger snaps before the locker room door has fully closed. “I want that four goal lead back, and I want it maintained. Got it?”

The chorus of _yes Coach_ is animated enough to prove that Digger knows what he’s doing. They’re not going to go out for the third with a comfortable three goal cushion, they’re going out as if they have to come back from one down, and that’s going to be a much better energy to face an opponent literally fighting for the points.

“Right.” Justin leans forwards from his seat in his stall, as Digger turns to speak to Rick about something. “I’m going to win the first faceoff. Puck’s coming back to my left, to Mike. Toffee and Frank are going forwards, Mike’s going to pass it back to me, I’m going to bring it over the line and pass to Toffee. Toffee’s going to score. Right?”

He’s so certain that they all believe him.

“So, me, Mike, me, Toffee, goal. Got it?” They all nod, like it’s as easy as saying it to make it happen. “Good. Because I’m going to signal something totally different when we get out there, but that’s what we’re going to do. Right off the first faceoff.”

It’s ridiculous. The game doesn’t work like that. They can’t be sure what the Eagles are going to do, especially these new, overly-aggressive Eagles. You have to react to the situation in front of you, adapt your plays on the fly…

 

Justin’s line hit the ice for faceoff. Justin circles past Jaakko with a nod, taps his stick to get Frank’s attention and calls out the few words he’s learnt in Czech. Andrew’s picked up a few words in most of the languages his teammates have spoken over the years, mostly profanity, and he’s pretty sure that the instructions were _on the right, fast, fuck, bicycle,_ but most of the Eagles on the ice are clearly anticipating that Justin will be passing back to Jaakko if he wins and that Jaakko is going to pass to Frank. Novotný just looks really confused.

Earnshaw glides in with the puck, checking that the goal judges and timekeeper are back in place and ready to go. Justin glances over his right shoulder at Jaakko, then focuses in on the moment in front of him.

Earnshaw drops the puck.

Justin’s just a flash faster than Stanton, and the puck’s sailing back to Mike exactly as planned. Justin goes forward and to the left, into the gap that Stanton left as he moved to anticipate a pass from Jaakko to Frank, and then the puck’s back on Justin’s stick just before he crosses the line, Frank and Toffee on his wings.

Frank calls for the puck, and Novotný goes with him, drawing Dannet to that side of the net and making it far too easy for Justin to drop the puck for Toffee, keeping his momentum to make it seem like the play’s going into that corner, and letting Toffee slam it in back-door before Lowe can get to him.

“There’s no way that should have been that easy.” Andrew’s on his feet anyway. “No way.”

 

The Eagles aren’t a bad team. They might rely heavily on their netminder, but Mkrstchjan doesn’t score goals for them and you don’t spend all year in the top part of the table without goals.

Stanton’s goal is an absolute beauty, coming off some slick passing and skimming into the top of the net on Woody’s blocker side.

Andrew wouldn’t have got that either.

For somebody who’s so quiet off the ice, Woody’s not shy about showing his frustration on the ice.

 

“Alright, lads.” Frank’s accent has never sat quite right with the English phrases he picks up. “Who wants the apple on my hatty?”

 

It’s surreal, when Andrew thinks back to the start of the season. The idea that the Tornadoes could string two wins together was almost laughable, then, and now here they are so confident that they’re picking their plays, pre-designating their goals in a playoff game.

Not that they won’t take any scoring chances they can get, of course, it’s not like anybody else will turn down a goal if Frank’s not there, but it’s a world away from where they were.

 

(Tim gets the assist, in the end, hooking the puck out of a scrum against the boards and sending it sailing to where Frank’s waiting with a rocket that even Mkrstchjan wouldn’t have been able to stop.)

 

***

_Saturday 1st April - Saxons v Tornadoes_

“It will never feel normal to be at a rink when you play and I don’t.” Marc’s sitting on the steps leading up into the stands, watching Andrew tape his stick. He’d already been in the rink when the Tornadoes bus arrived, apparently having wandered in with so much confidence that it didn’t occur to anybody to stop him. He’d left home that morning with Allie, Sara and the girls, since they wanted to go to the retail parks before the game, and he’d managed a couple of hours before leaving Allie with their car keys and escaping to meet Andrew.

Even if he’s not supposed to be here, Digger probably won’t mind.

Digger certainly won’t have any issue with telling Marc to get lost if he _does_ mind, regardless of who he is.

“It’s kind of weird to have you here.” Andrew puts the tape down and inspects what he’s done. It’s been a couple of years since he and Marc were last on a team together, and since Marc moved back to France it’s not like they ever even do any informal training together. The closest they get is taking their daughters skating on family holidays, and, well. That’s not the same.

“Hey, have you got the white stick tape?” Woody’s steps slow to a halt as he realises that Andrew’s not on his own.

“Yeah, it’s-” Andrew goes to grab it for him, but Marc gets there first, picking up the roll of tape and holding it out to Woody without getting up from his perch on the stairs. Woody takes the last few steps to get to him, which wouldn’t have been necessary if Marc had left Andrew to pass the tape over.

Marc holds eye contact with Woody as he takes the tape from his hand, but neither of them says anything and Woody walks away with the tape.

Andrew shakes his head and keeps his voice low. “What the fuck was that?”

“Why are _you_ backing _him_ up?” Marc’s voice will almost certainly carry as far as Woody, and Andrew’s not having it.

“We’re a tandem, Marc.” He gathers his things, matching his tone to Marc’s so that his voice will carry the same distance. “Nobody’s backing anybody up. We’re doing this together.”

He turns and follows Woody, catching up easily with his longer stride, not looking back although he can hear Marc following.

Marc catches them by the doors to the locker room.

“Sorry.” He says, addressing Woody. “That wasn’t cool.”

Woody looks at him for a long moment, jerks his head up in a nod, and vanishes into the locker room.

“Uh…”

“He’s not really one for talking.” Andrew would pat Marc’s shoulder if he didn’t have his hands full. Marc doesn’t know Woody, he can’t tell the difference between the blank expression that Woody wears when he’s confused, the flat look that he gets when he’s offended or hurt, or the passive expression that means he’s already moved on to something else in his head and doesn’t really care what you’re saying. “We’ve got to get ready, I’ll see you after?”

“See you after.”

Marc’s still standing there awkwardly when the door closes between them, and Andrew can only imagine how hard it must be to watch other people carrying on playing the game you love once you’ve retired.

 

The excitement bubbles on the bench as the clock runs down, as they’ve got a two goal lead and ten minutes to play, five minutes to play, two minutes to play…

The final buzzer secures their semi-final place, and Andrew can’t even get to his feet before Biscuit’s hugging him, yelling something incoherent.

Andrew yells back and passes him off to Oscar, turning to fist-bump with Digger and Marcus before he follows the boys out onto the ice and into the handshake line.

Everybody’s got a hug and back-slap for Woody, and as the line unfolds to meet the Saxons he gets further and further behind. It seems like everybody on the Saxons wants to congratulate him - everybody except Aarden - and Andrew’s circled through the officials and bench staff before Woody’s emerged from the line of players.

“Andrew!” Sara’s waving from the boards, where she and Mollie have come down with Marc’s family and also with Danielle. He glances at the guys and decides he’s got time to say hi before the announcements.

“Steve will be ages.” Danielle tells him, passing Phoebe across without giving him an option. Colton’s holding hands with Mollie on one side and Sophie on the other, talking non-stop.

“Hi, Feeb.” She must be getting used to him by now - she certainly doesn’t seem to mind being handed over, just braces one hand on his shoulder and smacks him in the face with the other as she tries to look in every direction at once.

Andrew laughs. “Should have left my mask down!”

 

When he comes out of the locker room a while later, showered and dressed, his extended goalie family are waiting around by the benches for him. Colton’s sitting on Marc’s shoulders, both fists buried in Marc’s hair, and Sophie looks nervous despite Allie’s reassurance that she’s doing a good job holding a sleepy Phoebe.

“Where’s Woody?” He’d left the locker room ahead of Andrew.

“Talking to Jon.” Danielle waves vaguely in the direction of the home locker room. “Marsh.” The clarification is useful, as Andrew doesn’t know all of the league’s coaches by their first names. When he turns automatically in the direction she’s pointing, Pete Winthrop is walking towards them, looking more cheerful than you’d expect for somebody whose team had just been mathematically eliminated from playoffs.

He grins as he reaches them, much more in keeping with the way he appears when Woody mentions him in stories than he was the other week.

“Hi Pete!” Danielle gives him a hug, and Andrew is reminded yet again that he’s not just a rival goalie, he was Woody’s rookie. “Do you know Marc?”

They run through introductions, and Winthrop looks momentarily starstruck at meeting Marc, but Andrew’s not the only one who thinks that Winthrop’s unusually happy.

“What’s going on?” Danielle’s the only one who knows him well enough to ask.

“Oh, Jon decided I should have the start tomorrow, as the game’s not going to achieve anything.”

Andrew’s suspicion that there’s more to the story is quickly confirmed.

“And Rijkert made some comment about not wanting to sit on the bench for the last game of the year, what was the point, and…” the grin spreads further on Winthrop’s face. “Jon just got his phone out, right in front of him, and called Louis - he’s an under-18 who trains with us sometimes - and asked him right in front of Rijkert if he was free to come to the game with us tomorrow. And then he told Rijkert that it was okay, he didn’t need to bother showing up, because Louis would be my back-up.”

“He _fired_ him?” Allie’s been hanging on every word. Marc clearly kept her updated with the drama when Andrew had told him about it.

Winthrop shrugs, trying for casual and missing by several metres. “I guess? I mean, I don’t think he’s had a contract extension yet, so if Jon’s throwing him out of the last game I don’t know if we’ll see him back.”

Danielle looks thoughtful. “And now he’s talking to Steve…”

 

***

_Sunday 2nd April - Pumas v Tornadoes_

_Woody_

The atmosphere on the bus isn’t weird, exactly, but it’s… wrong. In a good way.

They’ve just lost the last game of the qualifying round, and they’re all bubbling with the enthusiasm that normally comes with a big win.

 

It might have been a loss, and everybody always wants to win, but it didn’t actually _matter_ and they all knew it before they even hit the ice. Their group was locked, both the Tornadoes and the Pumas already guaranteed their semi-final places, so neither of them really needed to win tonight. Both coaches were icing their rookies, and the Pumas crowd went nuts when Adam Walker skated out to their net for the second period.

There wasn’t even an advantage to placing first or second, because the other group was so tight that they didn’t know which teams were going through, let alone where they were going to place.

They’ve got the Scorpions in the semis, they know that now, but it could just as easily have been the Griffins or the Huskies a couple of hours ago.

 

The Huskies. Steve still can’t quite get his head around that. They’ve sucked reliably for years, and now here they are in the final four.

Then again, Steve’s a Tornado now. He wouldn’t have seen that one coming either.

Steve’s a Tornado.

Jon took him aside after the Saxons game yesterday, and asked him if he’d come back next season. The team he’s loved since he was a kid, the team he always dreamed of playing for, the team he called home for so many seasons - they need him. They want him.

And Steve told Jon he’d have to think about it.

Steve’s never thought twice about saying yes to the Saxons before.

It would be easier. He loves the Saxons, always has. He lives near the rink. Danielle’s business is local. Their families are local. The delivery job - which looks set to continue even once G is fit again, based on the the amount of work that needs to be done - is also local. It makes sense.

But Jon and Monroe chose to get rid of him at the end of last season. He wasn’t their first choice then, and he can’t feel sure if he’s their first choice now. The Tornadoes-

Well, he wasn’t the first choice for the Tornadoes either, but at least that was never a secret. They needed a suitable netminder when Gregor Szabó ditched them, and Steve was a suitable netminder. Digger never lied to him about thinking that Steve was a perfect fit, but the way things have turned out with Andrew… it just works.

He wants to play every game, of course he does, but he’s not getting any younger and having a reliable tandem partner to split the starts with is a lot less pressure than having a guy like Pete relying on him.

 

There’s pros and cons to both, anyway. Paul says that Digger never starts conversations about next season until the current season is done, and right now Steve’s happy to concentrate on next weekend and deal with the future when he gets there.

 

***

_Marc_

#### 

Marc pins Mollie’s list back to the fridge with a magnet shaped like the Eiffel Tower and drops the pen back into the pot on the end of the breakfast bar.

He’d commented on the list the first morning they were here, and Mollie had painstakingly explained that Andrew needed to pick a new job because he’s going to be too old for hockey soon (Andrew’s face had been hilarious) and then talked him through all of the things that Andrew is apparently good at.

Andrew had been forced to admit that he had no idea when Sara had added _fashion_ to the list and therefore couldn’t identify what clothing choice had prompted it.

Marc’s taking advantage of the empty kitchen to add his own item to the list.

“Bus-ted!” Sophie’s leaning against the kitchen door frame with her arms folded. Sometimes she looks so like Marc’s sister did at that age that it’s creepy.

 _“Don’t tell Uncle Andrew.”_ Marc lapses automatically into French. Sophie scoffs.

_“I think your handwriting makes it obvious. Mollie and Auntie Sara have totally different writing.”_

Marc shrugs. _“I’ll deny it.”_

 

***

_Andrew_

It’s very weird being back at the Skydome. It was one of the regular away venues every season Andrew played in the Elite league, but instead of half a rink of Blaze fans and a scattering of visitors, the place is going to be absolutely heaving in an hour’s time and there’s a real party atmosphere. The ticket-holders are queued up all around the building, some of them in costume, the rink staff are all more cheerful than usual, and the whole thing feels surreal.

They’ve been allocated the away dressing room, as the lower-placed team in this match, but Andrew’s won a lot of games out of this dressing room and he’s happy to share that confidence with his team.

 

When the doors open, the noise starts to build steadily and by the time they skate out for warm-up the stands are bright with colour. There’s a wedge of bright green Scorpions fans to balance the grey and blue of the Tornadoes block, but the Pumas fans are filling the section opposite the benches in sky blue and the section behind the home net is red with Huskies jerseys. They’re not the only ones here, though, there’s Saxon blue and the dark red of the Eagles carefully kept apart with the yellow of the Piranhas fans, the Griffins up behind the away bench in black and pink, and the Cobras’ purple and Blizzard green either side of the zamboni doors.

So far Andrew’s also seen three guys dressed as bananas, and a Don Cherry impersonator.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place look like so much fun before.” Elly bumps against the boards next to Andrew while Oscar’s clearing the pucks out the net ready for the next drill. “It’s normally a lot more… staid.” He knows this rink better from regular Elite league games too, of course.

A giant beach ball bounces off the netting above the glass and falls back into the delighted crowd.

Oscar turns in their direction to send Elly a puck, and Jasper tucks one back into the net behind him, like he does every time Oscar turns away during this part of warm-up. Somehow Oscar’s never managed to identify who’s responsible for the endless reappearance of the pucks he thinks he’s cleared.

 

It’s not going to be an easy game. The Scorpions are on form, they’ve had a hot season, and it’s not been smooth sailing for the Tornadoes.

But it’s just one game. They only have to beat them once to get through to tomorrow’s final.

They only have to win one game tomorrow to win it all.

Andrew settles his mask more securely into place and skates over to the net for his turn in the drill, displacing Oscar and flicking the offending puck back out to Jasper.

Woody’s out by the red line, gazing down the ice at Ryan Lloyd with that stare which gives even Andrew shivers if he accidentally gets in the way of it.

Two wins to go, and anything is possible.


	18. August

_Andrew_

“Have you seen that photo of Elly?”

“Which photo?” Andrew doesn’t want to move, slumped in a chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. It’s too hot to move, especially given how much food he’s just eaten.

“This one.” Danielle passes him her phone, and Andrew finds the energy to lift his arm and take it from her. “With the goat.”

The photo is from Natalie’s Instagram, of course, because Elly’s still mostly allergic to social media. He’s got an Instagram now, probably after pressure from Natalie and Leon, but he’s put up one photo of his dad’s dog and that’s it.

Elly’s out in the countryside somewhere, sitting on the grass with a goat standing next to him. It kind of looks like they’re having a conversation.

“Where did they go again?” Andrew passes the phone back.

“Norway, I think.” Danielle puts her phone on the table, in amongst the debris of lunch, and tips her head back into the sunlight. “Somewhere like that.”

That makes sense. Elly’s got the kind of skin tone that sunburns if he watches a TV show about somewhere hot.

Speaking of which…

“Mollie?”

“What?” Mollie calls back without turning round from where she’s playing some kind of card matching game with Colton.

“Did you put on more sun cream?”

“Yes! Mum did both of us.”

It’s _Mum_ and _Dad_ more often than it’s _Mummy_ and _Daddy_ these days.

“When do you start your teacher training course?” Danielle opens her eyes just long enough to locate her soda water.

“September.” Andrew idly remembers that he’s finished his beer. Sara’s indoors showing Woody where he can change Phoebe, maybe if he texts her she’ll grab him another one from the fridge on her way out.

“Just in time for the new season, then!”

“Yup. At least I still have a few weeks of leisure time left!”

“All right for some!” Danielle’s recently gone back to work. “Are you looking forward to going back to school?”

“Yeah, actually.” Andrew sits up properly, the first stage in the process of getting his own beer. “I’m looking forward to studying again, because it’s been a few years since I’ve done anything that’s not hockey or football, and I’m also looking forward to actually getting into a real school.”

“Not nervous?” Danielle turns her head to look at him, engaging more directly in their conversation.

“Well, yeah. Of course I am. But how hard can it be, right? They’re just kids!”

They both laugh. Andrew’s going to be teaching 11-18 year olds, and teenagers are almost a separate species.

Andrew isn’t really nervous, though. There’s going to be a difference, of course, between coaching kids who’ve signed up to play a sport they love, and teaching kids who are in his class because they have to be, but Andrew’s got experience with handling hormonal teenagers in emotional situations. He’s up for the challenge.

 

Woody puts a fresh beer down within Andrew’s reach without saying anything.

“Oh, cheers.” Andrew picks up the cold bottle as Woody sits down next to Danielle. “Just what I needed.”

Woody salutes him with his own beer, and Danielle laughs.

“That’s teamwork.” She picks up her own drink again. “Where’s Feeb?”

“She was falling asleep so we put her down in the spare room.”

“She’s very cute when she’s asleep, but I don’t miss nappies.” Sara pulls out a chair and joins them.

“She’s very cute when she’s awake, but I don’t miss nappies either.” Andrew adds. “Or teething.”

“I guess you get to the stage where that’s all behind you.” Woody looks over at where Mollie is letting Colton beat her at their game, and then glances at Danielle in a way that adds to Andrew’s suspicions about why she’s the designated driver today.

It wasn’t really a choice for Andrew and Sara to limit their family, there was never going to be a little brother or sister for Mollie. Mollie herself wasn’t supposed to be possible.

“Well, you’ll have to let us know how teenagers work.” Danielle grins, and Andrew suspects she’s talking about Mollie rather than his future students. “Once you get there.”

“Don’t.” Sara gives an exaggerated shudder. “She’s going to stay like this for ages, we’re not having hormones in this house.”

“Good luck with that.” Woody tips his beer to her, and Sara laughs.

Andrew tips his face up to the sun and closes his eyes. Signing on to play another season behind the Tornadoes, next to Woody, was an easy decision. Woody’s not Marc, but as goalie families go this one’s not so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I love to hear your thoughts on each chapter, whether you're following along as I post or if you waited until it was complete before you started.
> 
> *  
> Huge thanks as always to docbeeski for the beta read, cheerleading and general support as I lurched my way through the drafting process.


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